


Dragons

by LadyAniko



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Consent, Curses, Dragon Zuko (Avatar), Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fire Lord Zuko, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Masturbation, Post-Canon, Post-War, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27422803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAniko/pseuds/LadyAniko
Summary: Five years after the war, Fire Lord Zuko accidentally agrees to be temporarily cursed in an attempt to help the near extinct dragons. He needs a healer to help get him through one summer of regular transformations. Katara, of course, is the best one for the job. Even if she exacerbates certain side effects; even if the side effects may require a new arrangement.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 233
Kudos: 650





	1. The Curse

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here, I assume you've read the tags and know not to expect serious high literature here. Lol. This basically is just a not-so-serious story I wrote for pure fun and because there seems to be a sore lack of dragon!Zuko fics. It has just enough of a plot concept for some mutual awkwardness and some pining to go with all the smut.
> 
> It's currently looking to be 5-7 chapters.
> 
> Kudos and (kind) comments are deeply appreciated!

_My moon, my life  
_ _My stars, my sun  
_ _You are the sweetest song  
_ _My king at night  
_ _I wanna look you in the eye  
_ _My moon, my moon, my sun_

—Dragons, Princess Nokia

_“You must understand us if you are to bring us back to the knowledge of the world and care for our young. You must understand us so deeply that your fate, for a time, for three whole months, must be partially intertwined with ours. You must learn to think like us, be like us. We must ensure our protection if we are to be exposed. Do you agree, Fire Lord?”_

_The voices of Ran and Shaw are blindingly loud in his head; the dragons’ eyes gleam at him as they await an answer._

_“Yes,” says Zuko, bowing his head respectfully. “I agree.”_

_The next thing Zuko knows, his body feels as if it’s consumed by fire._

_Something that he doesn’t quite understand settles in his bones, but he does know that it’s magic._

* * *

“Hold on. Back up,” Sokka says, looking as though he’s been whacked in the head by his own boomerang. “ _How_ did this happen exactly?”

“I, uh…suppose I agreed to very vague terms,” says Zuko, as the baby dragon curls tighter around his neck and lets out a happy little squeak that sends furls of ash-colored smoke out of his nose. “I thought they meant I had to _study_ dragons to understand them and be worthy to keep him, not—”

“Literally transform into one sometimes?” Sokka finishes for him, shaking his head.

“Uh. Well, yeah. Exactly.”

“I’m going to write Katara and tell her she’s needed here urgently,” says Sokka, moving to stand, his eyes ranging over Zuko’s bandaged arms, legs, and torso. “You’re going to need a regular healer until this is over.”

“I have healers here in the Fire Nation,” Zuko says quickly. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to come stay here.”

“Do you want word to get out that the Fire Lord is cursed to turn into a dragon once a week for the entire summer?” Sokka asks pointedly.

“Well no,” Zuko admits. “And I wouldn’t call it a curse so much as a—misunderstanding.”

“Well,” says Sokka, “This ‘misunderstanding’ causes painful transformations.” He gestures over the bandages wrapped around Zuko’s extremities for emphasis. “So if you don’t want people to take notice or for you to be stuck in a bed all summer, you’re going to need Katara.”

“Right,” says Zuko, feeling a general sense of unease begin to rise up and claw at his chest. “Fine.”

Druk, still perched on his shoulder, lets out another happy little roar that is half a hiccup as Sokka briskly exits, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Zuko is only half surprised that when Katara arrives and is brought to his room, he feels an almost painful rush of longing.

It isn't like he hasn't noticed Katara before. He certainly has. He’s been helplessly noticing her for years and years; since before Sozin’s comet; since she dated the Avatar and since they broke up; since she’d gotten with someone else, some guy from the Earth Kingdom, almost right after, and since they’d broken up, too; and since the string of short-term boyfriends after that. But he’d had Mai, and she’d had the previously named others, and he’d pushed all thoughts of Katara in _that_ way away, both because Zuko had loved and cared about Mai, and because he isn't delusional enough to think it could happen with Katara. He doubts she's single now. But repressing impossible desires is apparently not working as well today.

Zuko has a horrible feeling this has less to do with his most recent break-up with Mai and more to do with the curse. Misunderstanding.

Whatever it's being called.

“Zuko!” Katara’s large blue eyes are filled with concern, and she is by his side in an instant, drawing water from a bucket that already awaits her and running her healing hands methodically over his bandages before she starts to carefully unwrap his arms and heal them further. Relief flows through Zuko immediately as she goes about her work, and he sighs, leaning back further into the pillows.

“Katara,” he greets, giving her a small smile. “Sokka filled you in as he left?”

“Yes,” she says, shaking her head. “What were you _thinking_ , Zuko?”

“Well I—” But his words are cut off by Katara letting out a sudden, light scream and stumbling quickly backward, her eyes locked on the windowsill.

Druk had just landed with a loud thump, pushing smoke out of his nostrils with a little snort that Zuko knows means the baby dragon is pleased with himself. “It’s okay, Katara,” says Zuko, grinning. “See, this is Druk. He won’t hurt you.” He gives a low whistle between his teeth, and the dragon soars over and lands contentedly on Zuko's shoulders, his stare now fixed intently on the newcomer.

“Oh wow,” Katara says, her voice a little higher than usual, though she creeps forward a few steps.

“You can pet him if you want,” says Zuko. “He really likes it on his snout.” To demonstrate he reaches up and does it, wincing a little as he moves to do so, and the dragon closes his eyes in appreciation. When Druk opens his eyes again, however, his bright yellow piercing gaze is still latched on Katara.

“I don’t think he likes me,” says Katara, nervously, as Druk continues to unabashedly watch her.

“That’s not possible,” says Zuko. “I like you. And Druk feels things like that.”

“Does he?” Katara’s eyes hold a light of fascination now. It makes Zuko’s blood run a little quicker in his veins.

Oh, this is going to be a problem.

He hastily looks away from her face. “Uh, yeah. That’s what I read. I’ve been doing research. Unfortunately there’s not so much information on my, uh, condition. None that we can find so far, anyway.”

Katara shakes her head again, bending more water to continue healing him. Her eyes flick to the dragon curled on the Fire Lord every once in a while, clearly still a little apprehensive, but she continues her work. “Again, what were you thinking?”

“I was just thinking I wanted to keep him, I guess,” Zuko says, letting Druk curl up tighter into his neck. “And I didn’t think this was what they meant when they told me that I had to learn to think like them and be like them. I just wanted to help the dragons. After my ancestors…you know.”

Katara’s face gets so soft that Zuko finds he has to look away again. “Of course you did,” she says, gently. Zuko suddenly becomes very aware that her fingers are moving to shift the wrappings on his torso so that she can heal him there; he sucks in a sharp, involuntary breath when her hand brushes his bare skin. “Oh—did I hurt you?” Katara frets, biting her lip.

Zuko moves his eyes up to the ceiling in order to avoid staring at her mouth.

_What the hell is wrong with me? Have I lost all self-control whatsoever?_

“It’s okay,” he says, a little hoarsely. “My muscles are just…sore. It feels like they’ve been stretched out and stomped on all night.”

“Not surprising,” says Katara, hovering her hands in soothing, circular patterns over his torso.

Zuko sighs. “That’s nice, though.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she replies kindly. “I just wish I could do something to stop the transformations.”

“I agreed to learn about them for the summer,” says Zuko. “I don’t think there’s a way out of it.” He meets her eyes. “I’m just really grateful you’re here, Katara. At least things can be mostly normal except for that one night a week, I guess. Thank you for staying.”

Something briefly flickers in her eyes, something that makes Zuko’s chest blaze with traitorous hope, and then it’s gone.

“I’m always happy to help you, Zuko,” she says sincerely, squeezing his hand.

* * *

As the first week goes by things are not, as Zuko guessed, mostly normal.

Things are decidedly _not_ normal.

Oh, there’s the concerted efforts at normality in the public realm, and thankfully all of those efforts work splendidly. Katara comes in every morning and night to soothe his muscles. They keep this discreet so as to keep the secret of the Fire Lord’s curse. There are already plenty of people spreading propaganda against having Zuko as their leader. They don’t need more fuel.

Katara joins diplomatic meetings and acts as ambassador, as she always does when she visits the Fire Nation.

So far there’s no evidence to suggest that anyone suspects a thing.

There are bigger problems, though: the side effects.

Side effects that he is supposed to be reporting to his healer, Katara, and that she is supposed to be documenting, because as far as they know Zuko is the first to have something like this happen. Or, at the very least, he’s the first to record it happening. Despite regular healing sessions, Zuko’s muscles are suddenly feeling worse with every passing day. It feels like he’s being ironed out, pressed flat and rolled out as far as he can go and then some. He’s constantly aching and irritable, and over the course of week before his next transformation it becomes painfully obvious why.

He’s growing. He’s become almost abnormally large, and still getting taller at an unnatural rate. And… _bigger_. Zuko has always been careful to keep in shape, even after his years as Fire Lord. Training sessions were always another way to calm his mind and to release stress when dealing with endless politics and trying to bring honor back to an honor-less nation on the world stage. He’s always had muscles, plenty of them, but now he’s bulking up further. His hands are becoming as large as plates, and he’s had to have all his shoes made new.

When he's in his room that morning, getting dressed with some difficulty—his robes are too snug in the shoulders, and he needs a tailor now, too—there’s a rap on the door.

“Uh, just a second,” he calls. He quickly slips on a robe and opens the door to Katara. She has come to his room to dutifully write down details of his first week.

She seems so much smaller than before. Zuko has always been taller than her, but now he positively towers over her. This doesn’t fail to escape her notice. Zuko can see by the way she tilts her head back to look up at him, how her eyes drag up and down him, blinking a few times as if stunned, as if fully realizing the impact of his new growth spurt for the first time.

“You’ve gotten gigantic,” Katara says bluntly. “I doubt this is escaping people’s notice.”

“Yeah,” says Zuko, sitting on the edge of his bed with a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Let's just hope no one makes a clever guess about why."

Katara pulls up a chair. When she speaks her voice is softer. “No wonder your muscles hurt all the time.”

“No kidding.”

“Should we have another healing session? How do you feel now?”

“I’m okay,” says Zuko, which is mostly true. He’s gotten used to the persistent ache that no amount of healing sessions will fix. He has to stop getting larger at some point soon, right? Agni, he hopes so. He gestures to her parchment. “What do you have so far?”

“I’ve noted your rapid growth spurt,” says Katara. She glances up at him, and a dazed look flits across her face before she looks resolutely at the parchment in her hands again. “And the...bulking up.”

Zuko resists the smugness that creeps up and makes him want to smile, and also ignores a sudden and very persistent rush of heat to his groin. Shifting uncomfortably and looking away from Katara, most especially from the lines of her neck and curve of her hips, he rasps, “What else?”

“I’ve written that you’re having pain,” she says. “Are you having problems moving your joints? Is this affecting your bending?”

“No,” says Zuko, thinking of his training sessions that week. “If anything, I feel…better. Stronger.”

Katara dips the brush and writes it down. Zuko is fascinated by the way her lips purse when she’s concentrating. He’s been aware of that before. It sometimes appears during diplomatic meetings. The way her face scrunches is far too endearing. More heat floods his body and he tears his gaze away, heart thumping hard in his chest and willing himself to _calm the hell down._

“What else?” asks Katara.

“I feel restless,” mutters Zuko. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned that to you yet. I just feel full of energy. All the time. It’s hard for me to sleep.” As she writes, something else occurs to him. “Oh, and I crave _way_ more meat than I used to. Red meat, specifically.”

When she’s finished writing, Katara looks up at him. Her eyes are gentle. “I’m really worried about you.”

Zuko’s heart contracts in his chest. “Don’t be. It’s just a few months. And it could be worse.”

“If you’d told me earlier about your sleeping, I could have had something put in your tea to help calm you,” says Katara. “I’ll do that tonight.”

“You’re the best,” Zuko replies, giving her a sincere smile.

“Just tell me what you need, okay? Please don’t keep it all to yourself,” Katara says, reaching out and covering his hand.

There’s a long moment where they look at each other in which the hope comes hurtling back to Zuko’s chest. She looks so sincere and tender; then again, she looks like that with pretty much everyone, because that’s who Katara is. He gives her a brief smile but drags his gaze away, sinking it to look down at his lap. She slowly withdraws her hand and stands up.

“See you later,” she murmurs, and then she’s rolling up the parchment and quickly slipping out his bedroom door.

* * *

The next transformation goes as easily as Zuko could have thought.

He’s ushered out of the palace in the night to a nearby forest, where he can fly freely without too much trouble so long as he moves away from the palace, Caldera City, and the surrounding villages. Thankfully Zuko still feels like himself when he transforms, and he spends the night flying with Druk, actually starting to enjoy the sensations of it, of the wind on his face and the smells in the air, until dawn comes and he returns to his spot to begin the painful process back to his human body.

He’s exhausted and in high amounts of pain by the time he’s back in his room. Katara is already there waiting, looking very anxious.

“Oh Zuko,” she whispers, as he staggers to the bed and collapses on it with a deep groan.

She takes a long time with this session, asking him over and over and over how he feels, if it’s a bit better now, if she can do anything else for him. Zuko is overwhelmed with the most powerful desire to yank him to her and nuzzle into her neck. He’s thankful when Druk flies in with a soft little roar and curls up beside him as a distraction, nudging Zuko’s hand with his nose so that he can be patted.

“You kept me great company last night, buddy,” Zuko tells him weakly, stroking the smooth scales of the dragon’s snout.

“Drink this,” Katara says, looking urgent, nudging tea into his hands and reaching to help prop his head up to drink. “It should help you sleep.”

Zuko takes a drink and grimaces; it’s awful. But he finishes every drop and lets his head fall back onto the pillow afterwards. His eyes are already beginning to droop. Katara’s face is swimming in his gaze, becoming blurry. When he speaks, he slurs. “K—Katara…” Black spots dance before his eyes, swirling confusingly with images of her face, her beautiful face, leaning down over him.

He feels a hand sweep carefully through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and he gets a brief, clear vision of brilliantly blue eyes.

“Sleep,” he hears her sweet, soft voice whisper, and he listens gladly.


	2. The Worst Side Effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned that this story is definitely a little ridiculous. It is also unabashedly filthy, and FYI, this is the chapter where we branch into that territory. I also wanted to say thank you so, so much to everyone who gave kudos, subscribed, and bookmarked, and also a particular thank you to those who commented on the first chapter. 
> 
> I appreciate it all more than I can properly express :)
> 
> Anyway, happy Friday the 13th! In its honor, here is a chapter!

* * *

Zuko thought the accelerated growth of his body would be the worst part.

While his swift increase in size seems to be over in his second week, something else has crept up in its place.

Something much, _much_ worse.

It starts just two nights after the transformation. He’s been drinking the calming tea nightly during his healing sessions with Katara, and it’s been helping. He still feels fidgety during the day, thrumming with excess energy thanks to the sun; but at night, at least, he can sleep. Tonight, however, he wakes with a low groan. It takes him mere seconds to realize what has woken him. It is, after all, difficult to ignore the intense throbbing of the erection pressing painfully tight against his breeches.

Zuko curses and sets to work pulling them off, groaning again in relief when his cock springs free from the confines of the fabric, hard against his stomach. The growth spurt has affected him here too, which, okay, sure, he’d been rather pleased about at first, because who wouldn’t be? But now he’s realizing this may have its own consequences.

He isn’t sure he’s ever been this hard. It’s actually physically painful.

This is not a standard, run-of-the-mill, middle-of-the-night erection. It’s far too intense and demanding for that. This, too, has to be the work of the curse, though Zuko can’t imagine why the hell that might be.

He’s certainly not going to be able to figure it out now, what with the massive, aching distraction below his waist.

And there’s also no way he’s going to be able to just ignore this and go back to sleep.

Resigned, he reaches down and curls a hand around his cock, swiping a careful thumb over the leaking head. Just this simple movement sends something like an electric pulse through his system. He jolts involuntarily, his jaw tightening and teeth gnashing together as a low hiss exits his mouth. He's immensely sensitive.

His brain goes blank with pleasure as he starts to pump. Slowly and carefully. Eventually he moves to firm, steady strokes.

It’s not long before his movements gets desperate. Zuko’s head tips back against the pillow, emitting a soft groan every time he drags his hands down and reaches the base, squeezing lightly. He picks up the pace even more, jerking his hips, fucking frantically into his hand.

The pressure builds and builds. He’s so close. His thighs tighten and start to tremble, his fingers clawing in the sheets.

_Fuck, yes, fuck—_

Unbidden, an image of brilliant blue eyes suddenly flashes behind his closed eyelids.

Blinding pleasure erupts through what feels like every nerve ending in his body.

His breath catches and he chokes out a long, low moan as his cock twitches. Hot, thick spurts splash into his palm, over his knuckles, onto his stomach. It’s more intense than he expected. It goes on and on and on, and all he can do is shudder and ride out the waves of euphoria, to try to keep his sanity, until it finally ends.

He’s breathing like he’s just run miles, and he’s left with the beginning trickles of shame for what—or _who_ —appeared behind his eyelids right before his peak. He’s also left with more come than he’s ever seen before all over him.

“What the _fuck_?” he breathes. He’s still shaking from the ferocity of the experience.

His muscles go limp and he lies still, willing his heart to stop racing and for himself to calm down so he can finally clean himself up and then get to sleep, seeing as tomorrow he has a very full day of endless meetings. He can think more about this problem later, though he hopes it won’t be a recurring one. But drowsiness eludes him.

Not even five minutes later he’s rock hard again, throbbing insistently.

“Oh come on—you can’t be serious!” he sputters desperately, staring down at himself in dawning horror.

* * *

Needles to say it isn’t, as Zuko hoped, a one time problem.

It is very, very recurring.

That night he’d had to finish himself off one more time before he could finally sleep, and he’d still woken up in the morning with yet another raging erection. His sex drive has spiked so much that he knows, without a doubt, this is the curse’s doing. But nothing seems to satisfy it. It becomes his main source of frustration, and that’s saying something as the leader of a nation. It’s getting to the point where he can’t concentrate on anything else. Multiple times a day, every day, he feels the familiar, traitorous twitch below his belt, begging for release. It’s impossible to just ignore it and go about his other business.

His sleep suffers again. His appearance gets more haggard as the days go by, dark circles appearing under his eyes.

He feels wild, untamed, completely out of control. It’s torture.

Katara, empathetic and observant as she is, does not miss that something is wrong with him. Normally this is incredibly endearing, but in this case Zuko wishes she would, just once, not care so deeply about others.

“Are you okay?” she asks him one day during a healing session.

She touches his arm and Zuko jolts away violently, not looking at her. He doesn’t trust himself to look at her. “Yeah,” he lies hoarsely, begging himself, as always when Katara comes to heal him, to think of the least sexy things he possibly can and not to think about the fact that she is so near to both him and his bed.

Outside of healing sessions when he sees her and briefly catches her eye, he sees hurt in her gaze. It’s the most torturous part of all. In order to stay sane Zuko clings to the notion that this has to be temporary. It can’t possibly go on like this the whole summer. He’s probably just having something similar to a mating season. The severity has to fade.

Maybe this is just this week’s hell, and it will all be over after the next transformation and he’ll have something else to deal with. Right now any side effect feels like it would be better than this.

* * *

The next transformation is slightly easier on Zuko’s body than the ones before it, but otherwise uneventful.

Katara is there as promised at dawn after he’s back, ready to heal him, and the abatement of the pain is almost instantaneous when she’s finished. Now the only thing he feels is the sensation that his muscles have been pulverized to dust. And his head. He’s so groggy he can hardly think straight. Druk is quieter than usual, curled up dutifully beside his master on the bed, occasionally nudging his own head affectionately with Zuko’s.

Zuko again falls asleep to Katara’s hand pushing his hair soothingly from his face.

When he wakes up only mere hours later—he has another busy day today, and can’t afford to sleep the day off—he’s sore, worn out, but, delightfully, without a morning erection. The first time since the whole mess began.

Katara comes to heal him, a quick session before he’s called to meet an advisor about an alleged rebellion; Ozai supporters in a small town on one of the more remote islands in the Fire Nation are looting and wreaking havoc.

Despite feeling drained and despite dreading dealing with the not insignificant problems of the day, Zuko also feels a sense of elation that he seems to be back to normal. Now there’s just the other symptoms—the exhaustion, the soreness, and a new, persistent itching on his arms and neck. But finally, he can better focus on running the Fire Nation.

* * *

The next day, however, there’s a diplomatic gathering at noon, and Zuko discovers just how very wrong he is.

Katara arrives at almost the same time, and before they enter the room she takes his arm and pulls him aside. “Something is going on,” she says, looking stern. “After this if you have time I want to discuss your symptoms.”

Zuko swallows back the familiar yearning as he gazes at her face. He really has missed looking at her.

He also, alarmingly, feels the recognizable beginnings of arousal stirring his blood. It is not helped when he sees what she is wearing: a dress with water tribe colors, design, and trimmings, but cut in Fire Nation style to combat the sweltering summer heat: sleeveless, and made of thin, translucent silk that billows over her hips. When she moves it’s like she floats.

There's a little twitch below his waist.

_Oh shit. It’s not over. Shit, shit, shit._

Zuko looks away and stares resolutely at the hideous tapestry across the corridor.

“Okay,” he grits out, because it will end the conversation sooner.

He hears Katara sigh quietly. She releases his arm and he follows her inside, still determinedly not watching her walk.

He successfully struggles with himself for the first ten minutes of the meeting when he has to greet everyone and speak. The problems begin when he has to sit down and listen to others drone on and on about numbers and economic problems.

The room is scorching. A trickle of sweat runs down the back of his neck.

His brain wanders, fuzzy from warmth, and settles on an image of Katara. In his mind she’s watching him, batting her eyelashes as she slowly reaches up to untie the straps of her dress from behind her neck. Her lips curve into a smile. His cock twitches again, more forcefully this time, and Zuko slams his fist on the table, gritting his teeth.

It takes him a moment to realize the room is silent. Everyone is staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.

“Is everything all right, Fire Lord?” The question comes from one of his financial advisors.

“Yes,” says Zuko, uncurling his hand and trying to stay calm. “I apologize. Please, continue.”

He knows Katara is trying to catch his eye, but he avoids it. He stares down at the table and tries to concentrate on the lull of the words, or even the uncomfortable itch building up in his neck underneath his heavy, stiff Fire Lord robes. Zuko is brought back to reality more sharply after a few moments, when he hears Katara’s voice.

“…do you mean, can’t send aid?” She’s glaring at the man speaking, her eyes sparking menacingly.

Zuko has always loved when Katara gets feisty in diplomatic settings. She has no regard for formalities or rules if she feels someone speaking doesn’t have the best interests of the common people at heart, regardless of nation. She interrupts. She snaps, and she points out vicious truths. She cowers from no one. It’s insanely attractive.

He wonders if her eyes would blaze like that if he were to undress her.

That silk fabric she’s wearing is so light. He could easily rip it right off.

Maybe pleasant surprise would flit across her face before those blue eyes would darken at him.

A long, intense pulse of desire suddenly runs through him.

He wants to grab her and lick every inch of her and make her moan his name. He wants her trembling. He wants to kick out all of these stuffy politicians, bend her over the table, and take her right here until she screams.

Abruptly, Zuko stands up. He’s shaking, his heart is pounding, and he feels he’s on the verge of losing it.

“Apologies,” he mutters hoarsely, as the eyes in the room fly to him again. “I—feel unwell. Please continue.”

Zuko hurries out and all but runs to his quarters. By the time he’s there and getting into his shower his length is upright and uncomfortably stiff. He starts stroking before he’s even turned on the water.

He’s too distracted to heat the water with his fire-bending so it’s ice cold, but he hardly notices. The freezing temperature does nothing to abate his lust or divert him from it. His legs are so weak and his muscles are vibrating so much that he has to put one hand against the wall for support, panting softly as he furiously fists himself. Katara’s face is waiting behind his eyelids as she always seems to be, no matter how hard he tries not to think of her. He tries to push it away, but he’s unsuccessful as always.

“ _Fuck_ —” Zuko bites out, body convulsing as he releases.

A haze of bliss washes over him. Just like always it goes on for ages. Longer than feels possible or natural. He’s fully slumped against the shower wall when it ends, his chest heaving. It takes him a few long moments to gain his composure.

He finishes the shower quickly after that. The familiar risings of shame are creeping up into his chest.

He can’t _believe_ he just had to run out of a fucking meeting to get himself off.

When he comes out into his room there’s a furious barrage of knocks happening on the door. Zuko knows who it is before he even hears her voice. “Open _up_ , Zuko! I know you’re in there! I’m very worried about you, I—”

Zuko swings the door open and she falters, surprised at the suddenness, but then she puts a fierce, stern expression on her face that probably would have sent him spiraling again had he not literally just came.

“I’m coming in,” Katara says, booking no room for argument as she steps past him.

As he closes the door and turns to face her, he sees that she has her arms crossed. “We’re talking about what’s going on, Zuko. Are you sick?”

“Not—not sick, exactly,” Zuko says hesitantly.

Katara’s face flickers. “Okay. Then what’s happening to you? Why won’t you talk to me? Your growth spurt seems to have tapered off, and you also don’t seem to be in as much pain as last week. The transformation even seemed to be easier. I thought maybe your body was getting used to it a little. I don’t understand.”

Zuko winces slightly, but doesn’t correct her. It depends on what kind of pain they’re talking about.

Being deliriously aroused almost all the time is not what one could call comfortable. He doesn’t know how to explain to her what is happening to him. He really doesn’t want to. But at this point he’s not sure he has much of a choice. It’s taking him over and it needs to be fixed. “That’s true,” says Zuko. His voice is hoarse.

Katara sighs impatiently. “How is your sleeping? You look very tired again. Is the tea not working?”

“The tea works,” Zuko tells her honestly. The tea isn’t the problem.

Katara looks as though she doesn’t believe him. “Everything else is still normal? Bending?”

“Yes,” says Zuko, avoiding her eyes. “Still more powerful than before.”

“What else?” Her voice is gentler. “Zuko, _please_. I’m here to help you. _Please_ talk to me.”

“I’m, uh, itchy a lot,” he says, to put off naming the biggest side effect. “Especially around my neck.”

This gives Katara pause. “Hm. Maybe that has something to do with scales?”

Zuko blinks at her in horror. “Do you think I’ll develop scales?”

“I don’t think that’s likely,” Katara reassures him. “I’m guessing that it’s just a reaction you’re having because you transform between scales and skin weekly. And you’re having other dragon-like symptoms—like the size, the power of your fire bending increasing, the meat cravings—so your body might also be half expecting scales. Since there aren’t any, your skin gets itchy instead. Is it really bad? Should I get you something for it?”

“Yeah, maybe. It’s not exactly comfortable,” he mumbles, thinking of the Fire Lord collar and how it digs into his neck.

“Okay. I’ll get you a salve. What else?” Katara reaches out to touch his arm but Zuko jerks away again, an automatic reaction from the past week. When he has the courage to look at her she’s staring down at the floor, looking crestfallen.

“Uh…” Zuko feels extremely hot in the neck, and it’s creeping up to his face and across his cheekbones. “I’m—I have too much—energy.”

His eyes fly around the room, everywhere but on her, but he chances another glance at her after a moment to see that she is frowning slightly. “You told me that last week. Is it worse?” Her eyes suddenly widen. “Do you remember telling me that? Maybe your memory is being affected—”

Zuko cringes again. “No, I—I remember. This is a—a different kind of energy.”

“What kind?”

She looks so bewildered. Zuko squeezes his eyes shut and then tilts his head up, staring at the ceiling. He’s going to have to come right out and say it, isn’t he? “Sexual,” he rasps finally, voice low, feeling hotter than ever.

There’s a long silence in which Zuko contemplates the ceiling as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“Oh,” Katara says finally, an octave higher than usual.

“Sorry,” Zuko mumbles. “I can find another healer if—”

“No, no,” she says, and he finally finds the courage to look back down at her. She looks flustered, but determined. “It’s not like I can’t talk about—I mean, I deal with this with others,” she says finally, then seems to realize how that sounds. “ _Medical_ things in this area. I’m one of the main healers in our tribe, so it’s fine for me. If you want talk to someone else I completely understand, but you don’t have to worry about me. It’s just that I’d have to ask you some very, um, intrusive questions.”

“It’s okay.” Zuko sighs. As horrific as this is, a stranger would be exponentially worse.

“Well.” He glances over and sees that her fingers are fidgeting repeatedly with her dress and that she’s no longer looking at him either. “How much energy do you mean? Is that why you just ran off from the meeting?”

“Yes,” Zuko mutters, hating his life.

Her brow furrows in concern. “So this is really interfering with your ability to live your life, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He groans, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “I can’t concentrate. I feel—out of control.”

“Okay,” says Katara. She sounds rather breathless. “How many, um, erections do you have a day?”

Zuko lets out a slow exhale. “Five. More. I don’t know. Too many. It also wakes me up at night. It’s relentless.”

“And you’re…taking care of it?”

“Trying.” This is horrendously mortifying. Or at least it is for normal Zuko.

The sex-crazed part of Zuko is currently feeling almost _pleased_ about this turn in the conversation, even if it is medical. That part of him likes that she’s a little breathless talking about this. He wants to see how breathless he can make her when she’s stripped and lying underneath him. He wants to make her writhe and thrash and—

“It’s not really working,” Zuko says hoarsely, inwardly pleading with his mind to return to safer avenues.

“Is there anything else unusual about it? Something different from normal sexual desire or experience?”

Zuko sends her a look of supreme desperation and mortification.

“I know,” says Katara, looking rather apologetic. “I’m sorry. I told you it would be intrusive.”

“It’s okay,” he says, haltingly. “Everything is more intense. And, uh…more. There’s even more when I, um—”

“More sperm?” Katara questions, her tone matter-of-fact.

“Yeah,” he says, shoulders slumping. “It’s not—none of this is natural. I’m going crazy. It’s definitely the curse.”

There’s a long pause. Zuko sneaks another look at her to see that she is also staring at the ground, brow furrowed in thought, biting her lip in concentration. He hastily looks away again.

When she speaks, her voice sounds small. “Yes. I think maybe you have to write Mai and get her to come back early.”

Zuko blinks, so shocked at this that his gaze flies to her again. “Mai? Come back early?”

“Yes,” says Katara, still quietly. “I think I may know what’s happening. The dragons are almost extinct, right? So I think what you’re feeling is some sort of…really strong biological urge to repopulate. But you can’t reproduce alone, so…so that might be why it’s not working so well alone. Maybe a partner will help.”

The truth of her words hits him like an earth-bender just struck him with a boulder. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of that before. Then again he has been very busy frantically jerking off every few hours to keep himself in possession of a normally functioning brain.

This is _so_ fucking messed up.

“Mai isn’t going to want to do that,” says Zuko, once he regains use of his voice. “And neither do I.”

Katara looks confused. “But—why not? She’s your girlfriend.”

“Not anymore,” he tells her. “We broke up about a month ago. For, uh, for good this time.” He and Mai had broken up so often over the years he’d lost track. They may have spent just as much time broken up as together.

Katara blinks rapidly as she processes the information. “I…didn’t know that,” she says. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” says Zuko, shrugging. “It was falling apart for a long time. Thus all the...you know. Breaking up.”

“Oh.” Zuko doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but Katara looks marginally more cheerful for a moment. But then she’s chewing her lip as she thinks again and he’s having to look away, back up to the ceiling, so that his desire to pounce her doesn’t return to something unbearable. “I’m sorry,” she says again. Her voice is very gentle.

“Don’t be.”

The air in the room feels heavier, even though they’re not looking at each other. Zuko doesn’t dare look at her.

“I should go,” Katara says abruptly. “I’ll brainstorm more about how to help.” When Zuko looks at her she's backing toward the door. “I’ll see you for the healing session later? And I’ll bring the salve too.” She stumbles in her haste to make it to the door, her fingers still fiddling with the fabric of her dress. Zuko just stares, bewildered by her apparent desire to flee the room.

“Okay,” he says weakly, and she gives him an apologetic smile before she ducks carefully out, closing the door.

* * *

When Katara arrives at Zuko’s room at dusk, she appears agitated.

“Hi,” he says when he opens the door and steps back to let her in, feeling more than a little jittery himself.

“Hi,” she replies. “So, I’ve been thinking—”

“Katara—” he begins, at the same time.

They both stop and laugh nervously.

“You first,” he offers, and she looks as though she wishes he wouldn’t have.

“Sure,” she says, despite the clear misgivings on her face. She bites her lip repeatedly and wrings her hands together. “Well,” says Katara, “I have the salve for you, so I hope that will help with the itching.” She brandishes a little container and then hands it to him. He accepts it gratefully, waiting for her to continue, the air thick between them. “And,” Katara says, clearing her throat and straightening her spine, “I tried to come up with some solutions to your other problem.” Her eyes drag over his chest as she says it. “I looked into tea or herbal remedies that might repress sexual drive,” she continues, and it’s clear she’s trying to remain calm and poised, though there’s a slight glimmer in her eyes as she’s speaking. “But I could only seem to find things that _enhance_ it, so that’s obviously not…helpful." She tucks a curl of hair behind her ear. Zuko’s eyes trail the movement, his pulse increasing. “I also,” she continues steadily, gesturing to a piece of paper in her other hand, “Made a list for you of respectable brothels—”

“No,” Zuko says immediately, shaking his head vigorously.

“Right, okay, sorry,” Katara says. She looks a bit mortified. “I just thought I’d check into every option I could think of.”

Zuko groans. Just one option.

One option that he really, really didn’t want to have to do. But he has to do something. He has to concentrate to be Fire Lord.

Katara seems to see this on his face, because she says, voice wavering, “I do have one more suggestion.” She stops and seems to have difficulty speaking a moment. “You and I could—take care of it.”

Zuko’s entire body freezes and he just stares at her for a long moment.

Is she saying…?

No. That couldn’t be. This isn’t even within the realm of possibility. He’s dreaming. Or perhaps the sex-crazed part of him has finally taken over and launched him into some sort of vivid, lucid fantasy.

The room has gone strangely blurry. His brain has turned off.

“Uh,” he says, extremely eloquently.

“I’m so sorry,” says Katara hastily, looking suddenly very horrified at his reaction, or rather his complete lack of reaction. “I knew it was a bad suggestion. You broke up with Mai not too long ago, and—and your friendship matters to me so much, the very last thing I want is to make things weird between us…” Her eyes scan him frantically. “I just thought that since we know each other that might be better than a brothel, a casual arrangement for the situation, maybe, but obviously that’s…just forget I mentioned it.”

Zuko’s brain is still too stunned to make sense of this. He can’t comprehend what is happening.

“I—don’t—” He manages to get out before his throat promptly closes.

Her face falls very slightly, and he feels a swell of panic at the sight, which only makes the throat closure worse. He’s somehow managing to ruin this even though he’s barely saying anything.

“I’ll leave you to put on the salve in peace,” Katara says. She gives him a slightly strained smile, clearly trying to return to some semblance of normality. “I can come back in a little while to do a healing session too.” She reaches out and squeezes his arm one more time and then turns to go.

“Wait, Katara, wait,” Zuko grits out, stepping after her.

She turns and blinks up at him, looking surprised at how close he’s come to her. “Oh right, I forgot,” she says, “You had something you wanted to say earlier.”

“No, I—well yes, but—” Zuko lets out a growl of frustration at his complete and total incoherence. He’s the ruler of a nation, for fuck’s sake. He’s gotten so good at public speaking, but Katara expresses physical interest in him and he has a meltdown. “Yes,” he says, more steadily now. “I just wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Earlier.”

Katara gives him a small smile. “Zuko, I told you I’m a healer. That includes things like this. Back home, couples even come talk to me if they are having intimacy or reproductive issues.” She pauses. “So don’t worry. Really.”

Zuko blinks. “Okay. Yeah. And, um…” She stares up at him, waiting, looking suddenly a little tenser. “It’s not that I think it’s a bad idea,” Zuko says, still having difficulty speaking over the lump in his throat. The sudden and very intrusive image of Katara disrobing right in front of him appears in his mind. He aggressively shoves it away. “It’s just that I don’t feel right about it.”

“I mean…I offered,” Katara says.

“You’ll do anything to help people. I don’t feel right that—”

Katara shakes her head. “Zuko,” she says. “Yes, I do want to help you.” She takes a deep breath, and then pointedly looks him up and down, smiling shyly. “ _And_ I also wouldn’t exactly mind having sex. Frankly, it’s been a while for me, and you’re attractive.” She smiles again, somehow both reassuring and apprehensive at the same time.

So many things flit across Zuko’s mind in that moment, so many thoughts and impulses. Which honestly is kind of a miraculous feat in itself, because it also feels as if his mind has just exploded.

The most primal, the most primitive part of him, wants to reach out and grab her right now; his blood rushes in his veins and his heartbeat speeds, and something in him preens at her compliment in much the same way Druk preens when he’s done something he’s particularly pleased with himself about. She _wants_ him.

It’s almost unimaginable to him, but she’s just said it.

_How long has it been,_ _Katara_ _?_ that part of him growls inwardly. _Let me make it better for you, I can take care of it, I’ll make you come over and over, all_ _fucking_ _night_ _if you let me_ _—_

“Still in there?” she asks, giving a light, breathy little laugh, and he jolts back to reality. Something on his face seems to make her eyes flicker, and then she laughs again, but it isn’t her usual laugh. It sounds forced. “You seem really surprised that I am, in fact, a sexual being,” she comments rather dryly.

“Uh, yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “And no! I…well…” Words jumble in his brain and he can’t string them together. He doesn’t know how to properly tell her that he’s actually very, _very_ aware that she is a sexual being.

“It’s okay. We’re friends, I know it was strange to suggest. Maybe just think about what you want to do. I'll keep brainstorming too,” says Katara, while Zuko muses wryly that he may never be able to think about anything else ever again.

And then she’s forcing another smile, and Zuko’s brain is still slowly chugging along to catch up. She squeezes his arm once more, kindly, and then she’s gone, and it’s only after the intoxication of her presence is away and the door has closed behind her that he realizes he should have done a much better job making it explicitly clear that he wants her, too, and that he’d probably just made her feel rejected in his attempt to assure she wasn’t making her offer out of obligation.

“Zuko, you _fucking_ idiot,” he mutters furiously to himself before sweeping toward the door.


	3. The First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this fic will have to be updated biweekly from here on out. Word count is getting up there, and I have another fic updating. 
> 
> I'm not sure yet, but what I DO know is that it's probably going to post on Saturdays or Sundays now, for no other reason than I'm just a hoe for alliteration and I can mentally call it "smutty Saturday" or "slutty Sunday" or something similar. Lol. For now, here it is as usual on Friday. Let the smut fest begin. 
> 
> A gigantic thank you once again to those reading! You're awesome.

* * *

Zuko wrenches his door open and sees the back of Katara’s head retreating down the hall.

After checking left and right and making sure no one is in sight he sets off after her, his steps quick and purposeful.

“Katara,” he says when he’s near. His voice is low and rough. He reaches out to catch her wrist and she turns, eyes wide with surprise. “Katara,” he says again, desperately, “I was just surprised, and—and you’re very pretty—”

Zuko doesn’t really know what he’s saying. Perhaps he should have planned this better.

He just wants to assure her that he does indeed find her desirable but instead his mouth just seems to want to produce inane babble. He cuts himself off, drawing a ragged breath, and his eyes drop helplessly to her lips. His mind is slipping away, emptying, creating a void that steadily fills with a desire akin to starvation. Some instinct is taking over. Vaguely, he knows it’s the curse.

He wants to let it take control. He wants to let it, but he’s incredibly wary of it, so he pushes it away.

Katara’s lips part appealingly, his brain blanks a little more, and Zuko takes a step closer.

She’s so much smaller than him. He towers over her. Something inside him, that same instinct, always reacts powerfully to this; it imagines picking her up and carrying her off to his bed. Curling her up in his arms, encasing her, guarding and protecting her.

His heart hammers so hard against his chest it’s uncomfortable. Time grinds to a halt as they just stare at each other.

“I just didn’t want you to feel obligated,” Zuko continues. His voice is still gravelly as he forces the words out into a silence that is somehow deafening, and as he also forces himself to think of something other than how exactly he would go about undressing her. “That’s all. Of course I—I mean, I can hardly believe that _you_ would want—”

The rest of his words are cut off when Katara clutches at the front of his robes, yanks him down, and kisses him.

Zuko freezes for approximately half a second before he reacts.

His hands fly up to hold her face. His large hands cradle it easily. Katara curls her hands around his neck, rising up to her tiptoes to meet him properly, and he lets his mind careen away. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue glides across her bottom lip and she makes a low, surprised gasp from deep in her throat. She lets him slip it into her mouth, weaving it with hers.

His cock is already stiff and throbbing painfully. He wants her so much it hurts. Her lips are so soft. She’s so perfect.

Zuko’s thumbs run over her cheekbones and he nibbles gently on her bottom lip. She reacts with a breathy little sound that very nearly ends him right then and there. He kisses her harder, more intently, one hand curving down and around to the small of her back and pulling her closer until she’s flush against him.

Katara’s fingers appreciatively explore his chest, his abdomen, and then reach up to wrap firmly through his hair. Tingles spread from every spot she touches him right down to the tip of his toes.

“Bedroom,” she pants against his mouth.

Zuko suddenly remembers they are out in the corridor. He hadn’t thought about where they were. He hadn’t cared. The entire world had shut off completely as soon as Katara had kissed him.

They begin stumbling backward, toward his quarters, still kissing furiously. Zuko never wants to stop kissing her.

_Mine_ , chants the instinctual, animalistic voice in him. _She kissed me. She wants_ _me_ _to take care of her_ _needs_ _._ _Me._ _Mine._

They reach his door, and with one hand Zuko fumbles with the knob and they stagger inside. He kicks the door closed behind him and drags a hand slowly up her spine, bringing her closer still, his fingers tangling in her long hair.

Her hair. He’s always loved her hair. The way it moves when she fights, how thick of it is, how much of it there is. In the humid air of the Fire Nation it becomes beautifully unruly. It’s loose right now, cascading down her back, and it’s both soft and delightfully chaotic between his fingers.

Katara arches toward him, a blissful sigh escaping her.

Zuko ducks down to press his lips to the inviting skin on her neck. She tilts her head further, exposing it more for him, and he runs his hands down her sides, pausing to firmly hold her hips as his lips sweep up the line of her throat. He listens carefully to her breathing patterns, pays special attention to the spots that get a stronger reaction—a gasp, her breath catching, or an involuntary shiver against his body—and he stays in those places longer, nipping or sucking lightly. Katara grips at his biceps for support, half slumping against him and moaning quietly when he sucks on a spot just below her ear.

Fuck, the sounds she makes. He’s going to lose it. But he has to be careful. He has to keep control.

His lips sweep a pattern to the other side of her neck, moving upward, teasing her with his mouth and tongue. He finds every sensitive spot and exploits it. Eventually his hands start to pull at the ties and folds of her dress. Her eyes are glazed when he pulls back to look at her. She’s just as dazed as she is. Seeing it makes his chest ache.

He’d thought the last week of arousal had been overwhelming, but _this_ —this is excruciating in all the best ways.

“Keep going,” she breathes. She moves to push off his robe as well and captures his lips again, even more urgently than before.

_Mine_ , insists that voice inside of Zuko, full of victorious triumph.

Katara pushes his robe off his shoulders, leaving him shirtless, and this time she’s the one that pulls away from his lips. She pauses, staring down at the scar that’s permanently etched into his abdomen. She reaches out, her fingers dancing gently around the edges, something flitting across her face and her eyes glimmering.

Zuko’s chest is heaving, his heart in his throat. He knows she’s thinking of the day he got it and now so is he. He stays silent, waiting for her; she eventually glides her hands higher to his chest and then tilts her head up to look at him. All the repressed longing makes him feel as if he’s about to burst. His body is actually vibrating.

Katara leans up to kiss him again, wrapping her hands around him and yanking him down to her almost possessively.

Zuko’s hands return to her dress, finally shedding it to the floor. He’s surprised his brain could function enough to get it off her. She’s left in just her wrappings, and he immediately runs his hands over them, over her ribs, and feels her shiver.

Suddenly, she pushes firmly on his chest. He stumbles backward, surprised. She keeps at it until he’s at the bed, nudging him until he’s forced to sit. She proceeds to climb right into his lap and kiss him fiercely. His hands come automatically to hold her waist again. His mind is somehow both blissfully blank and buzzing incessantly.

He still can’t believe this is happening. The way he wants her is painful. His heart may very well beat right out of his chest.

Katara’s hands trail his jaw, and their hands run all over each other, and it’s fast and passionate and Zuko gathers her closer.

He can’t ever be close enough to her. She’s so warm. So soft. Fits so well in his arms.

Katara grips his shoulders and curves into him more insistently before forcefully grinding her hips down. She gasps quietly as she slides along his hard, clothed cock, straining painfully against the fabric of his trousers. Zuko lets out a stuttered groan into her mouth at the contact, a shock wave of nearly blinding pleasure rippling up his spine.

Katara rolls her hips again, and this time her head falls forward into the crook of his neck when his hardness rubs between her thighs. Another breathy moan tumbles over her lips and she kisses the side of his neck. His grip on her hips tightens even more and he uses his arms to start rocking her roughly against him. Each time they find the friction they both need he can feel her shake in his arms.

Zuko isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. Every second he gets closer and closer to just ripping her clothes off and sinking into her. But he mustn't. He won’t. This new instinctual part of him is powerful, and he doesn’t trust it. Especially not this first time. So it hovers on the brink of his consciousness, informing his actions but not controlling them, and it must stay that way.

When she grinds down again Zuko hisses between his teeth and he shudders, his breathing ragged.

Enough.

He takes hold of her and easily flips her over onto her back. He presses against her, pinning her into the mattress. The feel of her underneath him is—indescribable. Unreal. Zuko takes hold of one of her legs and pulls it around his hips before he pushes his hips down and forward, sliding his cock against her.

She throws her head back with a strangled moan and clings tighter, squirming under him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he manages to gets out, pushing against her again. She juts out to meet him.

The rhythm of their hips becomes frantic. Zuko slides a hand up her stomach, brushing lightly over her still-covered breasts. She pushes further out and into his hands, eagerly encouraging the contact.

His hands work at her wrappings, pulling at them, stripping them away.

His breath stops and his mind reels into near delirium at the sight of her topless under him. He pauses to stare at her.

His self-control is waning. Her hair is mussed and sprawled out on his sheets, her lips are swollen, and her eyes are hazy with want. It’s like all of his fantasies from the past week but so much better.

His cock aches. It’s frenzied agony. A flash of unbearable heat spikes through him and he again shakes off the feeling that he needs to push into her right this very second. He must be careful. He must keep control. He says the only sentence his mind seems capable of stringing together right at that moment. “You can’t be real,” he mutters, dipping his head to kiss her stomach.

Zuko kisses up her slowly. He savors the feel and taste of her skin on his lips, the increasingly desperate movements of her hips, the way her muscles contract under his mouth when she tenses. He kisses and licks between her breasts but moves past them, back up to her neck. He buries his head in it and inhales her.

Fruity. Flowers. The sea. Something specifically Katara. He could stay here, this close to her, forever. He’d never tire of it.

His mouth maps her neck again, kissing, nipping, sucking, and one of his hands gathers her left breast in his hand. He lightly squeezes and massages, savoring the softness, the weight of it in his head. He rubs over her pebbled nipple gently with his thumb and she moans deep in her throat. She quickly moves to scrabble at the hem of his trousers. There’s a determined blaze in her eyes as she yanks both his pants and breeches down just enough to free his cock.

Her hand slides down and briefly brushes him. Just this simple touch has him jerking his hips automatically toward her, dropping his forehead to hers with a strangled gasp and squeezing his eyes shut. Every muscle in his body goes completely rigid. Katara, too, has frozen, her breath catching in her throat, and Zuko opens his eyes to look down at her.

She is staring down at his cock in her hand, her mouth open. Her face is a mixture of awe, desire, and—he thinks—nerves.

“Oh,” Katara breathes finally. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Zuko’s voice is husky; he brings one hand to her cheek, holding her face easily in one hand. “The growth spurt…” His eyes are moving around her face. Her apprehension is evident. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she tells him, giving him a fierce look.

Well, it’s official. She’s going to end him.

He leans down to press his lips very slowly into her collarbone. “I can start careful,” he murmurs. “Slow.” He feels how Katara melts under him, relaxing into the sensation of his mouth on her skin.

“Okay,” she breathes back, shuddering in sudden bliss as his warm fingers ghost down her body.

Her small hand suddenly curls around as much of him as she can and gives a light stroke. A tremor ripples through his entire body. Katara slides her hand along him slowly, squeezing gently—once, twice—but Zuko reaches down to take her wrist and pulls her away. He has to make this last. He has to.

So he teases her a moment instead, running his hand along her inner thighs until he can feel them quaking. When his fingers finally lightly brush her clit through the fabric of her underwear she arches her back all the way off the bed, a desperate, strangled whimper rising from her throat. He glides his hand lightly over her again and Katara spreads her legs wider.

“Oh please,” she begs. She sounds hoarse and only half coherent. “Please touch me.”

Zuko doesn’t comply immediately, even though the way she begs almost makes him snap completely. He slides her underwear tantalizingly slow over her hips and off her, leaving her completely bare under him. She puts her hips out, squirming desperately, and he finally presses his thumb against her clit. She mewls, clawing at his arms.

He rubs slow, careful circles, muffling her moans with his mouth, before dipping a finger lower.

“ _Shit_ …” Zuko drops his head into her neck again. He can’t believe how wet she already is. So much slick has accumulated between her legs. She’s practically dripping. It activates something deeply primal in him.

He drags a finger up her sensitive flesh before resuming his little circles on her clit with his fingers. She bucks helplessly into his hand. He moves up to nibble on her earlobe, and she whimpers faintly again. “Please. Zuko, please—now.”

This is officially too much. Her name on his lips. Her begging him to take her, squirming under him, bare for him. He’d wanted to drag it out, to taste her, to kiss every inch of her, but she’s so ready. She needs him so badly, and that puts him in an almost primitive state, hanging on to reality and himself by a very thin string. His answering words spill out without input from his brain, his voice rough and low. “Yes. I will. I’m going to fuck you now. I’ll take such good care of you.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes. Her eyes darken and her face is stunned, her fingers coming to his chest and gripping at him.

Zuko lightly touches her knee, dragging his hand along her upper thigh before he sprawls it across her hipbone, holding her steadily down. His heart is racing and he’s tingling in anticipation. He’s painfully stiff and leaking. He kicks the undergarments the rest of the way off his legs impatiently and tosses them away. His knees come to hers, nudging her legs further apart.

He aligns himself between her thighs, and she lets out a pleased little sob when the head of his cock brushes against her opening.

He takes her chin in one hand, tilts her face up more to kiss her, and slowly starts to push in.

Katara gasps low against his mouth. Her fingernails dig marks into his chest as he carefully slides into her inch by inch. He can feel her walls clenching and fluttering around him, stretching to accommodate him. Katara throws her head back and Zuko presses kisses along her cheeks and her jaw. She’s so tight. So hot and wet. She’s gripping him in a snug embrace, and he has to pause to regain his control, to keep from losing himself in the sensation and just slamming into her with reckless abandon.

She’s perfection. He’s shaking with the effort of holding back, his jaw clenched. Underneath him, he can feel her trembling too.

“You feel—so good—” He can barely get the words out. He stares down at her as he pushes in another inch.

She’s panting, struggling to take his size. He doesn’t know how, but he’s _still_ sliding into her. Katara’s eyes are squeezed shut, her face scrunched and her chest moving rapidly. “So—big,” she chokes out.

Zuko feels a flare of jubilation at this comment and pauses with a great effort, sprinkling kisses up her jaw again. “Stop?”

“No,” she gasps, shaking her head. “Just—not too fast yet.”

Zuko kisses her, slow and gentle, his tongue swirling with hers. He continues sinking into her, still methodically deliberate.

When he is finally buried all the way to the hilt she tilts her head back and sighs. Zuko stills on her completely, opening his eyes to watch her carefully. Her features are still twisted and he can feel her fluttering around him again. He groans, leans down, and peppers kisses across her right breast, giving her time. He sucks very lightly on her hardened nipple and hears her keen.

He kisses his way back up to her neck and then looks down at her. Her eyes are open now, staring up at him with unbridled lust. “So good. Amazing.” Katara tells him, breathlessly.

Her comment is incendiary—heat blazes through all of his nerves again.

The way she looks and feels under him. Around him. It’s almost insanity inducing.

_Mine. Mine._

“Good girl,” he growls very suddenly, from deep in his chest. There’s a layer of husky command in his voice.

Zuko has never once said anything remotely similar in bed. He's never actually been one to say much of anything.

He has no idea where it came from.

Well—okay, no, that’s a lie. He _does_ know where it came from, but right now his mind is too foggy to really think about it.

There’s only a fraction of a second where he has enough of his wits about him to worry about it being too much, but then he sees her eyes dilate and feels how she automatically clenches tighter around his cock, and he knows that she liked it. He kisses her hard. “You take me so well,” he murmurs against her mouth, his tone still authoritative. “I can’t believe how perfect you are.”

Again the words just pour out with hardly any conscious input. And again, Katara doesn’t seem to mind. Her hands grip him tighter and she just makes a pleased sound in the back of her throat, her brilliant blue eyes searing into his. She arches her hips up pleadingly, watching his reaction, and he almost growls again. He withdraws all the way, still slowly, still testing.

Keeping careful control, he slides back in, more smoothly this time.

Katara keens, pushing out to meet him when he bottoms out in her again.

When he thrusts again, faster this time, her eyes flutter and her face contorts with bliss. He catches her lips with his and kisses her because looking at her like this is too much. She feels mindbogglingly good. Snug, warm, soft. But Zuko is adamant that he will outlast her. He will make it happen. It won’t be easy. Not only is there the desperation that comes with his curse, but there’s the desperation that comes with Katara, specifically. Even before this entire mess Zuko likely would have given his right arm for a chance with her like this. Now he has it.

Now he has it, and he’s going to make sure Katara comes. He wants her coming around him to be the thing to send him over.

He clenches his jaw and starts to pick up his pace. Long, steady strokes. The feeling of sliding in her is glorious. Warm velvet. He feels every flutter and quiver of her inner walls. Each time it happens he can't hold back a rumbling growl from his chest.

Soon he’s fucking her with hard, deep thrusts. With each snap of his hips her fingers tighten and she whimpers. Katara starts to roll her hips harder to match him, and he groans hoarsely, slowing down a moment to regain himself.

When he speeds up again his hands come possessively to her hips, holding her still.

The heat overtaking him is scorching now. It feels like he’s heading toward the summit of some mountain of pleasure, climbing steadily higher, higher, higher to the peak, spurned on by Katara’s delicious sounds and the feel of her around him and her hands grasping desperately at his torso. Her hands slide over his shoulders and grip at his upper back, her legs wrapping around his hips. They both gasp at the deeper angle, and Zuko falters a moment to once more gather his control.

When he starts to drive into her again his fingers come down to rub her clit, and Katara suddenly goes rigid under him.

“Oh—oh _fuck_ ,” she wails, squeezing her eyes shut.

Zuko picks up yet more speed, pounding into her relentlessly. The bed rattles.

His lips come to firmly capture hers. “Can’t wait to feel you come around me,” he murmurs into her mouth. He speeds up his hand. Faster. Tight, rough circles on her swollen clit as his cock fills her over and over. She makes a faint sobbing sound again.

He feels her start to clench and flutter around him and he can tell by the way her body tenses that she’s close. So close.

Zuko groans, his other hands twisting so hard in the sheets his knuckles turn white.

And then his free hand flies up to her neck, sliding possessively up the length of it, coming to her chin and holding it roughly. “Open your eyes,” he rasps. He tilts her chin toward him. She obeys, her stare meeting his—it's bright blue and pleading and fixed on him, clouded from the sensations he’s giving her. He is doing this to her. He’s making her feel this way. Him.

His balls tighten and he feels his thighs start to shake. His mind finally slides all the way away, into the avaricious fire.

“That's it. _Good girl,_ ” he growls again, automatically, deep and silky and forceful.

Katara’s face contorts and she curves into him with a long, loud cry.

He holds her chin steady so she still gazes into his eyes as she comes apart, shuddering in his embrace. Her cunt throbs and clenches around his cock so hard and her face is so euphoric that Zuko breaks immediately. He shatters only seconds after her.

He’d thought coming that entire week had been intense. But it was nothing, nothing compared to this.

His vision actually blacks out. His entire existence in this moment is just this. Her. Pulling bliss from every cell in his body. It’s fire burning over his skin but it’s also water—just wave after wave of endless, burning rapture. Hoarse gasps are torn from him and his hips continue to thrust into her. Stilted and erratic. His body convulses and he collapses on top of her, his head falling to her shoulder.

He pulses deep in her, over and over and over, for what feels like an eternity. Every time it feels like it’s crested and coming to an end he just comes more inside her. She’s still gasping and clinging to him as it finally trails off to an end, her own orgasm prolonged by his. Zuko slumps against her, skin sliding against hers, pressing her deeper into the mattress. His arms encircle her and tighten.

His head is pounding uncontrollably. So is his heart. He’s warm and content and he’s never felt so whole.

It feels as if the world had been tilted the wrong way on its axis all along without him noticing, but now it’s suddenly correct.

Something is telling him to kiss every inch of her right now, that it will finalize it, make her his; so that’s exactly what he starts to do.


	4. The Morning After, Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. The word count just keeps climbing on this. There is lots of gratuitous smut and some pining in our future. Why? Because they're stupid, your honor, and also 2020 is just cruel and we deserve some nice things. As a treat. 
> 
> So I hope you all have a nice thirsty Thursday. Thank you for reading!

* * *

Katara sways back into consciousness peacefully—with rays of sunshine tickling her face.

There isn’t a single worry on her mind. There isn’t anything on her mind at all.

It’s like her muscles have been meticulously wrung out, every single last drop of pleasure squeezed out.

Katara remembers, vaguely, that she had drifted off to the most exquisite feeling of warmth the night before. Warmth and a tranquil feeling of utter security. Even when Zuko had slipped out of her he’d stayed on top of her, his hips resting gently against hers. His skin had burned like flames. Zuko had always been a warm person, obviously, but the post-climax afterglow encased in his arms had been something else entirely. She’d also drifted off to the feeling of his lips on her skin.

More and more details flood back as she slowly starts to wake up.

He’d kissed her neck, both sides. Her earlobe, behind her ear, across her shoulder. Down her arms. Her fingers. Every inch of her stomach. He’d moved slowly and deliberately, seemingly determined not to miss a single spot. It was almost as though he’d been grooming her.

It had been delightfully soothing.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she’d felt so safe and warm, so drowsy and happy as his mouth had drifted to kiss down her legs.

Katara’s eyes flutter open, squinting slightly from the sun. It’s too strong to be early in the morning. It has to be at least midday. She’s naked in Zuko’s bed and, notably, alone.

She shifts up to her elbows and glances at the bedside table, where a tray of tea awaits her. It’s likely cold by now, but she immediately recognizes the distinct tar-black color; a method of pregnancy prevention. Even though Katara is always sure to bend any lingering fluid out of her and last night had been no different, she reaches out and gulps it down. Never a bad idea to be extra safe.

And then she flops backward again, her curls sprawling out over the pillow, and stares at the ceiling.

Should she leave before Zuko returns? She doesn’t necessarily want to, but she doesn’t know the etiquette of a situation like this.

She’s never had a casual partner. And technically she doesn’t even really want Zuko to be casual.

Last time she’d visited the Fire Nation on an ambassadorial trip, Katara had planned to tell Zuko how she felt. Which is to say that she has feelings for him. Feelings that are certainly not merely friendly and that have been developing for quite a while; possibly months and months without her explicit knowledge. But the timing had been almost comically poor. When she became fully aware of just how deep she was in for him she had resolved to tell him the next time she visited; but the next time had rolled around and he’d just gotten back together with Mai—a tumultuous relationship that had long off periods.

And so Katara had waited. And waited. She’d tried dating others over those months as a distraction.

And now she was here, and she’d found out he was single, and she’d gone and told him she wanted to sleep with him rather than stick with her original plan.

Maybe not one of her finer moments.

Katara actually hadn’t intended to suggest this arrangement. Not because she doesn’t want to; she certainly _wants_ to do this, especially after the literal earth-shattering orgasm last night. It had actually felt like the bed and floor had crumbled out from beneath her and she’d sunk into some sort of abyss of hazy pleasure, from which she’d only just now crawled out.

She’d done the opposite of what she was supposed to do: namely, give Zuko time and space after Mai and as he sorted out the whole dragon situation and _then_ confess to him her real feelings at the end of this long visit. But she decides that she can still stick to the rest of her original plan. She can still give him some more time—for Mai, for the curse—and tell him when this is all over. That way she’s also certain she’s getting an answer from real Zuko, and not…cursed Zuko.

Cursed Zuko may have slightly clouded judgment. Cursed Zuko likely just wants to put a baby in her. The thought that he's only sleeping with her because he’s cursed is extremely depressing, but she swallows hard and pushes it away.

Katara slips out of his bed, which she notes smells deliciously like him: eucalyptus and something herbal, something she can’t quite place. She pads to the bathroom and takes a cold shower because she can’t figure out how to heat the water and suspects she has to be a fire-bender to do so anyway. Because it’s cold she’s quick about it, and she’s dried off and has just wrapped herself tightly in a towel when she hears the bedroom door click.

Heart fluttering, she clutches tighter to her towel, makes her way across the bathroom, and silently pushes open the door.

Zuko is standing over by the windows, directly in the sunlight and looking outside, Druk perched majestically on his shoulder.

Katara has a brief moment where she allows herself to discreetly observe him. She prefers to use the term ‘observe’ as opposed to ‘ogle’, though technically the latter is probably much more accurate. He’s just gotten so huge. Absolutely gigantic. Just thinking about the way those arms had pinned her down and his biceps had bulged out as he’d had his way with her last night makes her very nearly incapable of speech. He’s fully dressed in his formal Fire Lord robes, top bun and crown in place. He looks beautiful and regal.

She wants to pounce him again.

Katara ignores this particular urge and clears her throat with distinct difficulty. “Hi,” she says.

Zuko starts and whirls around, his good eye wide. Druk flutters his wings irritably, clearly not enjoying the rapid movement of his master. “Katara! I thought you left—I looked for you—” He looks positively flustered. The fact that Zuko can go from being so delightfully awkward most of the time to whatever he'd been last night only endears her to him more. She gives him a shy smile as she moves across the room. He smiles back at her as she approaches, and some of the nervous tension in her chest eases.

Only when it fades away does she realize just how many anxieties she had been carrying about facing him in the light of day.

“I had an early meeting,” he explains. His voice is raspier than usual. “And it lasted three whole hours longer than it should.”

“That’s terrible.” Her mouth feels dry. It should not be this dry. “Do you need a session this morning?”

“You mean afternoon?” He looks suddenly very amused. His eyes flick over her, wrapped in just one of his fluffy bath towels.

“I suppose I do,” she says, feeling her cheeks get warm under his gaze.

“I don’t need one. I’m actually feeling really good today.” His voice is husky and the look on his face makes her stomach swoop.

Before she can reply they’re both surprised by Druk, who suddenly takes off from Zuko’s shoulder with a delighted little screech and settles on Katara’s shoulder instead. Astounded, Katara peers up at him and then smiles widely. “Hi, Druk,” she says. She reaches up to tentatively touch his snout and Druk preens happily under her affection, letting out another little snort of contentment.

Even young, Druk is very, very big. The weight of him presses in to her bare shoulder, his talons lightly digging into her, but not in a way that’s painful. If he were slightly lighter she might be able to bear it, but as it is she finds herself stooping under his weight.

When she looks at Zuko he’s grinning. “I told you he likes you.”

“I like him too,” says Katara. “He’s just a little heavy.” She glances rather apologetically up at the dragon, who has just finished head bumping her affectionately and is now staring intently down at her with his bright yellow eyes.

“Oh, of course, sorry—here.” Zuko lets out a low whistle and Druk immediately flies to his shoulder instead, delicately flapping his wings as he settles in. Zuko doesn’t seem bothered at all with Druk’s weight. “You can’t just go around landing on people, buddy.” Zuko tries to sound stern but he doesn’t quite manage. Druk snorts smoke out of his nose and ruffles his wings and Zuko just chuckles.

He walks over to the window and opens it wide for a moment, letting Druk soar out before he shuts it securely once more. “He was stuck inside with me,” Zuko tells her. “At the meeting.”

“You took him?”

Zuko’s eyes are dancing with amusement as he looks down at her. He has stepped closer to her. She has to tilt her head back to see him properly and she can feel her heart rate increase at his proximity. “Yes, I did,” he says.

“Why?”

“Intimidation tactic,” he answers, mouth twitching. “The meeting was with one of the nobles that I know still secretly supports my father. Seeing his face when I walked in with a dragon made dealing with him a little more bearable.”

Katara laughs. “So what does Druk do when he doesn’t like people?”

“Stares at them like he’s considering eating them,” Zuko tells her. “It’s a pretty effective way of getting what I want.” Katara laughs again.

Zuko takes a step closer. She can practically feel the heat radiating off him. It’s the sun’s energy—he’s thrumming with it. All his power and strength seem much more potent and wild in the light of day. His eyes blaze brighter than she’s ever seen them. His pupils are blown wide, staring at her with such intensity that it feels as though all the air has been suddenly swept right out of the room.

A slow, steady warmth begins to build and unfurl in her abdomen.

It’s impossible not to know what he’s thinking about. He’s looking at her like he’s ready to devour her.

He takes yet another step closer. “You fell asleep before I was finished with you, you know,” he says. His voice is low again, almost casual, but there’s a dark undertone to it that makes her shiver involuntarily. The warmth in her abdomen spikes to a reckless, white-hot inferno.

Katara is currently having quite a bit more difficulty than usual drawing proper air to her lungs, so it takes her a moment to answer. “Oh?” she says. She sounds faint even to her ears.

His eyes are trailing up and down her as if deciding what exactly to do to her first.

Katara’s brain empties completely and she squeezes her thighs together. She came less than twelve hours ago. He hasn’t even touched her yet. Hasn’t even kissed her. All he’s done is hover near her, look at her, and say one measly sentence and she’s already dizzily aroused. She’s hopeless. “Well,” she says, half breathless, half teasing, “It was never my intention to deny the Fire Lord something he—”

She can’t finish her sentence before Zuko descends on her.

His hands are everywhere. They're hot on her face, her chin, and her neck as he kisses her. Waves of palpable, sweltering warmth roll off him and consume her, like he’s some sort of conductor for the sunlight streaming in the window and gleaming on his skin. Just like last night, she can feel how his body vibrates against hers. She’d known he’d been holding himself back yesterday; she’d been able to tell. And he still is this morning—no, afternoon—but he’s a bit more unbridled today. More fierce. His lips are more forceful on hers, his hands running through her hair and gripping with a sense of desperation.

Katara’s hands fly up to impatiently rip off the Fire Lord shoulder pads and they fall to the ground, and then she’s almost frantically pushing his robes off him. She needs to see him. She needs to feel his hard chest under her fingers again and feel his skin against hers.

As soon as the robes are gone she touches and savors every crevice of his abdomen, the solid planes of his chest, how the muscles are tense under his skin. The heat coming off Zuko’s bare chest is scorching. Her nails lightly scrape against him and he lets out a stuttered groan into her mouth, a deeply masculine sound that makes her clench her legs again. The warmth in her abdomen is spreading out further, licking flames across every inch of her skin.

He suddenly lets out one of those deep growling sounds in his chest, takes her by the waist, and lifts her. She lets out a little gasp of surprise and her legs tuck around his waist automatically, hands clinging to his shoulders. He carries her across the floor, still kissing her, easily supporting her with just his arms. He holds her like it's nothing.

Just this simple show of sheer brute power sends an almost painful thrill of want through her.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to leave you behind in my bed this morning?” His voice is rough. It radiates yet another pulse through her system and makes the apex of her thighs throb. She whimpers quietly into his mouth.

Already. She’s already whimpering for him again. He’s well on his way to just melting her permanently into a gigantic, aroused puddle.

He reaches the bed and deposits her on it, pressing down on top of her.

One of Zuko’s hands lingers on her jaw and he kisses her deeper. The other slides down her body and starts to pull at the bath towel. The feeling between her legs has built to an urgent, persistent ache. She feels horribly empty.

The towel falls away and his eyes dilate wider as he stares down at her underneath him.

She lets her eyes graze over him. He’s so exquisite. There’s a faint shaking in all his muscles. He’s still keeping a careful, pained control.

Zuko comes down to bury his face in her neck. He seems to really enjoy doing that. Katara makes a pleased sound in her throat to let him know the feeling is very mutual, her hands coming to thread into his hair. Zuko presses his lips into her skin. “Half thought—last night—a dream—” He lets out a shuddering sigh, before sucking lightly on a spot that makes her weak.

One of his hands suddenly snatches both her wrists and pins them above her head. The other runs slowly, reverently down her body.

Katara moans faintly and squirms under his touch. He’s barely coming into contact with her skin, his fingers only sliding teasingly down her, but it’s already nearly enough to drive her mad. She squirms again when he brushes over her already pebbled nipples on his way to her stomach. They're already so hard they hurt. His large, warm hand splays out over her abdomen, and she juts up automatically toward him, wanting him to go lower. To touch her. But his grip tightens on her pelvis, holding her still.

She’s never been this turned on. Ever. The heat between her legs is unbearable.

Zuko crackles with electricity and power as he kisses her. She responds fiercely, and she can still feel him shaking with restraint against her. His free hand carefully slides to cup her left breast and he groans into her mouth, rolls it carefully in his large hand, squeezing gently. His grip tightens on her pinned wrists with the other. Katara’s heart is pounding uncontrollably. Something about him pinning her like this is just too good. She tries to arch upward, but he presses the lines of his body harder against her and keeps her still.

“Be patient,” he mutters in a voice like velvet, with that undeniably seductive hint of command that had appeared the night before. He nips at her lips before he trails down the front of her throat with his mouth, to her collarbone.

Katara feels somehow both numb and hyper-aware of every touch on her skin, every movement he makes.

His mouth trails across her breasts, kissing softly. Around the circumference. Along the bottom. The sides. All around her aching nipples but not over them. The very air in the room feels painful; when he finally flicks his tongue lightly across them she tenses completely and a guttural gasp escapes her throat. She writhes, pushing desperately against his grip on her wrists. But his fingers just tighten more, keeping her hands trapped. He gathers one in his mouth and gives a light suck.

Katara writhes again, more violently this time. She’s completely mindless. She doesn’t know how patient she can be. All she can think about is the incessant twinge between her thighs and how she needs him to take care of it.

But Zuko takes his time. He kisses and licks and sucks, his mouth warm and wet.

He’s teasing. She wants to chastise him but she can’t even speak. He draws it out until she feels like her whole body is throbbing with need.

He suckles lightly on her one last time and then pulls away. Katara makes a protesting little sound when his body weight shifts off her.

She hadn’t even realized her eyes are squeezed shut. Katara is about to open them but then she goes completely rigid from the sudden feeling warm breath tickling her inner thighs and hands on her knees, holding her steady. He places a delicate kiss on her right inner thigh, just above her knee. He kisses and nips higher and higher until she’s so taut she can hardly stand it. Her chest heaves. The anticipation might make her explode. But then he moves lower again and starts on the other leg.

She’s too far gone to be self-conscious that his head is down between her legs. She just simply doesn’t care about anything anymore except alleviating her ache. When he comes finally starts to travel high enough again she’s shaking violently.

She can’t take anymore. She can’t.

“Zuko,” she pleads, “I need—”

Her words are cut off as she inhales sharply. Her mouth falls open as she feels the heat of his tongue lapping at her, a slow, gentle swipe from her entrance up to her clit. The entire room goes blurry and a supernova of bliss erupts through her entire body. “Ohhh,” she moans. Her fingers fly down and automatically latch themselves into his hair and her hips arch up toward his mouth. This time he doesn’t hold her down and lets her chase the friction. Zuko growls again, and the vibrations it sends through her core is like an electric current.

“You taste divine,” he murmurs into her, sliding his tongue lightly up her slit again before circling her clit. She whines incoherently, pulling harder at his hair. “I knew you would,” he says. His voice is huskier than she’s ever heard it. One of his palms slides to her calf and draws it over his shoulder, spreading her wider before burying his face in her again.

He nips at her, laps at her, kisses her. Every once in a while he licks slowly and gently across her clit, carefully teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves. It puts her into mania. She feels deranged.

She’s burning. His hands are too as they roam lightly over her hips and her stomach and her breasts.

Not even three minutes later her hips are jutting up erratically, fucking his mouth, pushing his head with her hands, spurned on by his muffled moans and the increasingly growing sensation in her, the familiar tightening bring her higher and higher and—and—

Zuko pulls away and starts kissing and licking the arousal from her thighs.

Katara lets out a strangled sound and tries to move to squeeze her thighs together, but his hand grips them and holds her firmly spread open. “Trust me,” he says. He resumes licking up her thighs, getting closer and closer again to where she needs him.

Katara does. She does trust him. But after he does this two more times—coaxing her with his mouth and lips and tongue until she’s shaking and her whole body is clenched, on the brink of orgasm, and then pulling away again—she wants to die.

“Please,” she begs.

“I know.” His voice is thick. His tongue glides lightly up her sensitive flesh again, making her thighs quake.

He teases less, builds her up quicker this time. Katara’s hips circle and thrust against his tongue and she whimpers with each movement. Zuko moans into her and the white-hot feeling inside of her rises to its peak. She’s right on the edge. So close. So painfully close.

He curls his tongue around her clit and then he sucks, hard, and Katara’s world implodes.


	5. The Morning After, Pt. 2

She’s only half aware of her surroundings, but she thinks a scream might have tumbled out of her mouth. She’d thought screaming from sex was fake. She’d thought anyone screaming from an orgasm or claiming to scream from orgasms had to be faking or lying.

She’d been wrong.

It’s like she’s been lashed with a powerful water whip except it’s inconceivably glorious. The wind is knocked out of her and she’s breathless. The swell of ecstasy bursts through her and overtakes all of her senses, fighting it’s way out of her body. She thrashes and shudders under its power, back arching sharply off the bed. When it eases and she leisurely starts to come down from the high she slumps back onto the sheets, her hands falling from his hair to her sides, completely weak. Unable to move.

“Beautiful,” she hears a rumbling voice say, as if from very far away.

And then it takes her a few seconds, but she registers that Zuko is still between her thighs, lapping very gently at her.

Every time he curves his tongue along her she shudders, overwhelmed. But it’s not a bad feeling.

Katara has barely regained her voice. Her words come out in a throaty whisper. “Holy…shit.” She may need to revise her earlier judgment. Asking Zuko to have sex with her as soon as possible may actually have been the best decision she’s ever made.

He licks up every drop of her but still doesn’t stop. Before she can say anything or properly wonder why he’s still there, his tongue starts to flutter lightly around her clit again and the muscles in her core clench and tighten.

 _Oh holy fuck, he’s not done_ , she thinks, stunned. _I’m_ _not done._

He sucks lightly again and she fists the sheets in her hands. Everything still feels so delicate. How he’s making that somehow feel good is beyond her. But just as she’s wound up again, her hips wriggling, his mouth starts to travel back up her body. Over her pelvis and her stomach. Between her breasts and up her neck.

And then he kisses her. He nibbles on her bottom lip and caresses his tongue with hers and all Katara can do is moan into his mouth again. There are now tingles running down her spine and all the way to her toes. She’s ready again. She can hardly believe it, but she is.

“That was—the best fucking thing—” Zuko tells her between kisses. He sounds almost intoxicated. “Can you take more? Take me again?” The tone of his voice, coarse and tense and low, makes the tingles increase. When he pulls back to look at her his eyes are bright. For the first time, Katara sees the curse more plainly etched into his face. It hadn’t been as easy at night, but by day it’s much more obvious. But she’s not afraid. And she can still see the tremors rippling through his muscles that tell her he’s practicing a careful restraint.

A sliver of Zuko still remains. He refuses to give in completely.

A wickedly curious part of Katara wonders what he’d be like if he were to give up his control; to let it take him over. He’d probably fuck her within an inch of her life. A dull throb of excitement runs through her at the mere idea of it.

She tucks that particular thought away for later.

“Yes,” she breathes, and then suddenly hooks her legs around his waist and scrambles to flip them over so she’s on top of him.

Katara knows she never would have been able to flip him with her own force and that he’d rolled to help her. His eyes smolder at her as she rolls her hips against his clothed erection, and he hisses through his teeth.

She doesn’t feel like she can get his trousers off fast enough. She scoots to the side and pulls at them, yanking them down to his knees. He kicks them the rest of the way off and she curls a hand around his hard cock. His body stiffens and his face twists as he gives a hoarse gasp, and suddenly one of his hands is in her hair, pulling her down to meet his lips. The pace of his mouth on hers is desperate.

Katara straddles him properly, her fingers still wrapped around him, and guides him to where she wants him.

Zuko’s jaw is clenched so tight she fears it might snap. His eyes dart from her face to her chest to where he’s nudging at her entrance.

Her hands fly to his chest to keep her steady as she starts to sink onto him. He’s so big. So thick. She has to take him slow again, her fingers tightening on his chest as she trembles, eyes closing and small moans catching in the back of her throat as she carefully slides down. She feels so deliciously stretched. She still can’t believe how she can take him. She feels a surge of pride each time that she does.

“ _Fuck_ —” Zuko's large hands come to span her waist, thumbs rubbing patterns on her hipbones as he waits for her to adjust. Katara opens her eyes to see that his gaze is locked on her face. And then his eyes get darker. “So good…” His voice is a sultry purr. “You’re so good.”

Katara clenches around him. It’s entirely unconscious. Whenever he says things like that to her it just drives her wild. No one has ever praised her like that. She’d never thought she’d be _into_ praise like that. But she’d discovered that apparently she most empathically is.

The way his eyes gleam when he does it. The dominating undertone of his words. It turns her muscles into jelly every time.

His hands are tracing almost mindless patterns on her hips, but his eyes are still intent on her face. He’s so observant. She’d known that about him. Zuko had always been observant and it is really working wonders when it comes to sex. He slowly pushes his hips up, experimentally; she gasps and her fingers claw at his chest as she feels his cock pressing so deep inside her she feels almost faint.

She starts to ride him. Slowly. Rolling her hips sensually.

He lets her control how fast and how deep, at what angle she moves. He’s so big and she’s still tender enough that it borders just on the edge between pleasure and pain. She bunches his pectorals between her fingers, gritting her teeth. She thinks it might give him bruises, but he doesn’t seem to care. Quite the contrary. Every time she opens her eyes and gets glimpses of his face he’s watching her with open veneration. She sits up further and then stills at the spike of sudden discomfort. “Zuko,” she gasps, “I—I—”

“Does it hurt?” His voice is gentle; when she looks at him she sees not the blazing heat of the curse in his eyes, but the warmth and concern of Zuko. Just Zuko.

Her heart flutters. “Not quite. It’s just—a lot.”

A hot hand trails delicately across her stomach. Soothing. Comforting.

“Come here.” His voice is back to that purr. His arms curl around her lower back and gently pull her down until she’s pressed against his chest. She releases a breath. This position is much easier on her for now, at the beginning. Far less intrusive.

Plus, she likes the closeness, likes feeling his skin against hers and his chest move as he breathes, and how she can feel his arms tighten imperceptibly as he draws her even closer. He buries his face in her hair and breathes deeply, slowly pushing his hips up again. “Does that feel good?” His voice is ragged. She can feel him vibrating underneath her, the sun’s energy and the curse’s mixing to spark through his veins. The fact that he clearly just wants to start fucking her hard and fast and yet he always waits, is always so patient and careful, makes Katara’s chest tighten with emotion.

“Perfect,” she breathes.

She moves up just slightly, just enough to kiss him. One of her hands wraps into his hair and the other grips the sheets as she starts to move. Slow and easy. Each movement is pure bliss. When he slides out it’s delicious anticipation, empty agony; and then he’s back inside her, rubbing tightly against her inner walls again, filling her, stretching her, hitting spots she didn’t even know she had.

He yanks her down closer to kiss her again, his fingers trailing up her spine and wrapping in her hair as his hips surge up to meet hers and the pace speeds to something more frantic.

Katara slows and shifts to sit up again, and Zuko stills. “Don’t,” he says, though the way his eyes move up and down her tells her that he would very much want her to be sitting up on him like this if he didn’t have to worry about her comfort. “If it’s not good for you—”

She ignores him, moving until she’s sitting all the way upright. “It is now,” she says, vehemently. “I just needed a bit.” She slides one of her legs out and plants her foot on the bed, spreading wider so she can take him deeper. She sinks even lower, bottoming him out completely inside her, and she releases a shaky sigh, biting her lip. The feeling of fullness that he gives her…there’s nothing like it.

Zuko groans, and his hands fly to her hips, pausing her before she can move. He squeezes his eyes shut and his chest heaves as he pants, collecting himself. Slowly, testing the waters, Katara starts to move on him again. Each time she glides every inch out of her before pushing her hips back to take him fully again. She reaches behind her, gripping his thighs—strong and thick and tense—for leverage. She starts to rut on him, thrusting her hips backward and forward, his cock rubbing tantalizingly inside her.

She plants her other foot for leverage and starts to ride him again. Zuko’s answering growl is savage. He matches her movements thrust for thrust, faster and faster.

It’s so much. He’s so much. His eyes are sparking with intensity. He’s still keeping control, but just barely.

“Look at you.” Zuko’s voice is deep and the sound of it ripples through her, making her clench tighter. She loves when he talks to her. She loves his voice, with that hard, claiming quality to it, just on the edge of losing himself. His hands grip under the back of her upper legs, helping her bounce more forcefully on him. “Love fucking you. Making you come. I could do it _all_ — _fucking_ — _day_.” His last words are punctuated by sharp, upward thrusts.

“Oh _god—"_ Katara squeezes her eyes shut as he holds her hips and starts to piston up and into her in a frenzy. She clings to his shoulders for dear life, crying out each time he drives into her.

“I’m going to come so hard in you.” His voice is positively brutal now, his pace punishing. “Do you want that?”

“Yes…” His filthy words drag her up, up, up. She’s half delirious. “Yes—so close, so close, right there…”

“Look at me.” He practically snarls the words. She opens them, drops her gaze to his, and sees that his eyes are pitch black and locked on her. His knuckles are smoking. The sun is reflecting off him and he’s palpitating with raw, furious power. “That’s right. Yes. _Yes_. _M_ _ine—_ _”_

“Yes—yes. I am,” she chokes out, because she knows this is what the curse raging through him needs to hear.

And because she is. Even if he doesn’t know it yet, she really is.

His hips stutter and his face goes blank with bliss.

She feels him twitch inside of her and the tense coil that has been tightening and tightening is stretched further, further; she’s shaking, so close to falling to pieces. The inferno in her burns and blazes higher, consuming her. Black spots dance behind her vision.

“Fuck—!”

His hips jerk upward repetitively as he spirals, careens, crashes over his edge, low, throaty moans pulled again and again from his throat.

The sounds he makes. The scrunch of his brow, the look of surrender on his face. The sensation of him spurting deep inside her, his warm come filling her. It’s her breaking point, and the coil inside her snaps. Hard.

Katara shatters with a loud wail, her walls clenching and fluttering around him, pulling him deeper. Keeping him in her.

He’d told her he comes more than usual with this curse and he’d meant it. The fact that he’d done it in her just yesterday doesn’t change it.

He just keeps shooting into her, still coming, more and more, on and on. It feels infinite. She feels infinite.

She rides the wave with him, almost sobbing from how staggeringly good it feels, from how long she comes. When it finally subsides her muscles go completely slack and all she can do is collapse forward onto his chest, breathing and shaking like she’s been sprinting for hours.

Even after a few minutes of silence and recollecting her breath, Katara is still shaking.

She doesn’t even realize it’s sobs wracking her body until it’s too late to hide it and Zuko has realized it too. She can tell when he does—right about the precise moment she does—because his hands suddenly pause where they’d been tracing circles on her back and his entire body freezes under her.

“Katara?” He sounds hoarse. “Katara, are you—?” Desperate hands find her jaw and lift her chin so he can stare at her face. Pure horror flits through his eyes when he sees her cheeks are wet.

“Oh, shit,” he rasps immediately. “Oh no—I’ve hurt you.” He looks sickened with himself.

“No,” Katara manages to say.

She’s being honest. She isn’t hurting. Nothing is actually wrong.

And yet she’s still crying.

“Don’t,” Zuko says urgently. His thumb swipes at her tears. “Please don’t try and downplay it. Just tell me what I did. Too rough? Did I say something wrong? _Fuck_ , Katara, I’m so sorry, I—I know I’m too much, I try to contain myself—it’s like I’m always on the brink of losing it completely, I—”

“ _Zuko_.” Katara cuts into his frightened raving and then sniffs, wiping at her cheeks with her hands. Tears are no longer coming but her chest is still tight with too many feelings to name. “I promise you didn’t hurt me. You didn’t do anything wrong. I would tell you.”

It’s silent for a beat as he assesses her intently, eyes roaming about her face. “You swear it?”

“Yes. I swear.” She tucks her head back down on her chest to avoid looking at him. Ugh, what a mess she’s made. What an idiot she is.

She feels him relax, but only slightly. “Are you sad?” He sounds so bewildered and concerned that her chest tightens even further.

“No. Not at all.” Her voice is muffled into his chest. “I…I think it was just…a lot.”

There’s another brief silence. “A lot,” he repeats slowly.

“In a good way,” Katara says quickly. A humiliated heat is crawling across her face. “I’ve never—I mean, that was—” She pauses, trying to gather her scrambled thoughts. “Really powerful. Um. That’s never, um…two times in a row like that has never…happened. For me.”

She’s fucking—mortified. This is downright mortifying.

She definitely leaves out the emotional part even though she suspects that’s a big part of this too. Telling him she was his. Feeling so close to him, so connected. His attentiveness and feeling so wanted. But she isn’t supposed to tell him yet, so she keeps her mouth shut.

Hearing him draw a slow breath in and then waiting for his answer is agony. “You’re…so it was actually…good?”

“That,” says Katara, her voice still a little shaky, “is a massive understatement.”

Zuko suddenly takes her hips and slides her off him but still keeps her gathered to his chest. His hands trails up to her face, tilting it up so she has to look at him. There’s a very self-satisfied smile starting to slowly spread across his face. “Really?”

Katara just gives him a demure smile back. “Yes.”

His body relaxes completely under hers and he pulls her under his chin again, his arms tightening. “It’s the same for me too,” he says finally. He sounds careful. “It’s new that everything feels so…intense.”

Katara forces herself to swallow. “Some curse,” she says, lightly.

A brief spasm of tension flits through his shoulders. It’s so quick Katara half thinks she imagined it. “Yeah,” he finally agrees. “So…”

The word hangs in the air.

Katara forces herself to swallow again, with greater difficulty this time. “So,” she says, “Should we…lay out some ground rules for this?”

He’s silent for a long moment. “Oh. Uh. Sure. What kind of, uh, rules?”

Katara shifts up to prop herself on his chest and look at him. “Well…if or when the others come visit maybe keep this quiet, for one thing.”

“Because of Aang?” His voice and his face are carefully neutral.

“What? No,” says Katara, surprised. “No, I just think it’s easier to keep it all a secret since your curse has to be hushed up.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, okay.”

“Do you have any?”

“No—well. Maybe.” He looks sheepish. “I don’t think you should sleep over.”

Katara blinks. “Oh,” she says, hoping she sounds natural and not as stung as she feels.

“Just…a big part of the problem was that I was distracted from being Fire Lord and, well…” He smiles a little. “I really meant that it was hard for me to leave you this morning. I was physically at my meeting, but mentally I was…pretty compromised.”

“Oh,” she breathes. This admission makes her all tingly again and her cheeks warm. Unbelievable. “Of course. That makes sense.”

“Also if it needs to stay a secret that’s maybe another way to ensure it gets kept,” Zuko continues.

“That’s true. Anything else?”

Zuko looks thoughtful. “We have to be very diligent about making sure you don’t get pregnant. I don’t know if it’s possible to have a half-dragon child, but I’d rather not find out.”

Katara giggles. “Yes. Agreed.”

There’s another pause.

“Do you have more?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” says Katara slowly. “I guess, um…so are you…planning on still seeing other people too?”

Zuko just stares at her, his mouth slightly open. Katara’s heart thuds as she awaits his answer, tries to read it in his face. Something dark flashes in his eyes very briefly. His voice is noticeably cooler when he speaks. “Are you?”

“No,” says Katara, then taps him on the chest and gives him a stern look. “But I asked first.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow, but the lines of his face are suddenly much more relaxed. “I don’t think it works that way for me, Katara.”

“What do you mean?” Her heart has sped up exponentially and she prays he can’t feel it against his chest.

“I know you didn’t miss how possessive the dragon part of me is.” He gives her a pointed look.

_Mine._

_Yes—yes. I am._

Katara’s cheeks flame and she looks away. “So there’s…you really feel there’s another part of you in there?”

“Yes.” He sighs. “Sort of. I’m not...I mean, it’s still me. I just feel like I’m always having to regulate something. I say and do things I normally probably wouldn’t, I guess. It’s especially potent the closer I am to transforming. Or in the daytime. Or when we’re, you know…” He gestured vaguely up and down their still intertwined, naked bodies. And then his eyes suddenly glint. “And I just don't think that dragons particularly like to share.”

_Mine._

The tingles suddenly increase, concentrating between her legs. Katara coughs hastily, but unfortunately he doesn’t change the subject right away. “And I think you suspected that too,” he continues. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have humored me.”

_Yes—yes. I am._

Katara searches desperately for words that aren’t a lie. “I said what I thought you should hear,” she settles on finally, avoiding his eyes.

She feels his gaze on her face for a long time. “Don’t do that,” he finally says. “It’s not your burden to contain that for me.”

Briefly, Katara wonders what would have happened if she hadn’t offered to help him. Would he have gone to a brothel after all? Found some other willing participant? Would he be bringing them to mind-blowing climaxes instead, growling claiming things to them, complimenting them? Does it even matter who his partner is at all when it comes to the curse?

Katara pushes the thoughts away, feeling suddenly cold even though Zuko’s skin is still unnaturally hot against hers.

She can’t worry about this. Isn’t this part of why she’s waiting anyway? To make sure his mind is curse-free, clear on what he wants?

“Of course,” is all she says. She rolls off him, onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

“Maybe…” He sounds tentative. “As nice as all this was, maybe we should actively reserve these, uh, activities to nighttime. I’m less powerful. I trust myself better. I just—really don’t want to hurt you.”

Katara look over at him, surprised. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me, Zuko.”

“You don’t know that,” he says. “And neither do I.”

“Okay. Well of course we can just keep it restricted to nights if that makes you feel better.” She’ll miss the sun on him, its power in him. She’ll really dislike having this with him and then making her way back to her room for the night, or him pulling away and going to his. But if that makes him most comfortable, she’ll do it.

“I have another meeting,” he sighs. “I’m going to shower.”

Katara starts to move too, intending to join him, but he takes her arm, throwing her an apologetic look. “Wait until I’m done. I don’t have time to—to do this again, and if you come with me…I really need my wits about me at this one.”

She sinks back into the sheets, trying to quell the hurt she feels. It’s so stupid. It's a compliment. She supposes she doesn’t like feeling held at arm’s length, which again, she knows is stupid. That's not what he's doing. And she’d been the one to suggest this, after all. So Katara puts a bright smile on her face. “I will,” she says, and he gives her a relieved smile and stands, crossing the room to the bathroom.

Katara slumps into the pillow further after she hears the water start to run. “I’ll wait for you,” she mumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy smutty Sunday!
> 
> We'll actually get into very vague traces of plot next chapter alongside all the smut. Crazy, I know. This fic is looking to finish around 7 or 8 chapters. Also, you can find me over on Tumblr under this same username if you feel like saying hello/being mutuals. Thanks for reading!


	6. Separation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy filthy Friday!😉

* * *

The following weeks go by spectacularly fast, a blur of mostly repetitious days.

The end of summer approaches. Katara trains and keeps up on her bending, sometimes with Zuko. She attends meetings and writes up politcal plans. She sometimes reads in the archives to learn more about the history of the nation she's trying to work with, the nation Zuko has to lead. She writes things to store in the archives about the Southern Water Tribe to keep her cultural knowledge alive and for the scholars of the Fire Nation to appreciate.

On the nights that Zuko transforms she's waiting when he staggers back to the room to immediately heal him and soothe his muscles, just like she's there in the morning to do the same.

On the nights he doesn't transform she's often the one to slip to his room, where she usually stays a few hours before she regretfully leaves. Each time she does it gets harder and harder to do. She's starting to wonder if she can make it through the rest of the summer like this. Katara is busy, but it can't quite quell the ache in her chest that comes from keeping her feelings a secret.

Still, the routine is comfortable, not to mention enjoyable—she'd thought all the intensity when sleeping with Zuko would fade at least a little, and she'd been wrong about that, too, because every single time it still feels like he sets her on fire.

So it's a bit of a shock when Zuko shows up one day to her room to announce a change, looking almost frantic.

"I have to leave for a little while," he tells her.

His face is so anxious that she sweeps over to stand before him and takes his hand without thinking. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"It's—I don't know," he says, sighing and shutting his eyes a moment. "There's too many rebellions going on. My advisors think it's time I go to some places personally to help counter some negative propoganda. Try and meet more citizens, offer personal aid, make sure less people join the underground groups trying to get me off the throne."

Katara swallows hard. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It's worth the risk," Zuko says. "I can't hide out in my palace all the time and let the problems just affect the others."

He's right, of course, but Katara can hardly stand the fact that he's leaving. "But—but your next transformation—"

"—is in five days," Zuko says, nodding. "I'll be back before then. We're staying somewhat nearby. Once summer is over I can travel further, but for now this is what I can do."

Katara can feel her eyes going glassy and forces herself to stay calm. "What if you need me? What if something happens with the curse? Should I come with you?"

"Stay here." His voice is gentle, and he takes her shoulders and looks at her very intently. "I'll be just fine. If something serious happens that is curse-related I'll come back earlier. If something happens while I am gone that requires a hasty decision, you should make it."

" _Me_?" Katara feels rather dizzy. "But—but no one will accept—"

"They'll have to," Zuko says. "My top advisor, and most trusted, is coming with me. The only other person I have that level of trust for that is currently here is you." He shoves a scroll into her hands. "It's in writing. Aang is on there too, in case you want to write him and have him come help you. But I'm sure nothing will happen. This is just for an emergency, okay? Or if something happens to—" He pauses at the look on her face and doesn't finish the sentence. "It won't," he assures her quickly. "All just precautions. I'm more worried about you."

"Me?" Katara says again. "Why?"

"It's no secret some of the nobles here don't like your influence," he says bluntly. His hands tighten on her shoulders. "Look, I know you can take down anyone, Katara, but if you're greatly outnumbered you're vulnerable. So I'm leaving Druk with you. It's safer for both of you. Take him everywhere."

"Zuko—"

"Promise me, Katara." He looks so fierce that she can't argue.

"Fine," she says. "Yes, I promise. I'll take really good care of him."

"And he'll take good care of you."

"You're making this sound so serious." Katara's voice is hoarse. She's still struggling not to cry. "Is it? Be honest."

"No," says Zuko, giving her a small, strained smile. "Really. Everything just sounds much more dramatic when you're a monarch with a nation to think of before you go running off. Everything is going to be fine, Katara. I'll be back before you know it."

And then he takes her face in his hands, leans down, and kisses her. She stiffens in surprise for a moment, because this is not something that happens during the day. They'd only had sex that one time during the day, at the very beginning, because she knows Zuko still fears his control. But she supposes this is a special situation, and already she can feel the excitement working its way through her body as he kisses her deeply, running his thumbs over her cheeks.

She reaches for his robe but he pulls away, his breathing ragged. "I don't have time," Zuko says, regretfully, and Katara realizes he'd only meant to kiss her goodbye.

She desperately scans her brain to try and think of a time that they'd only kissed without it escalating to more and she can't think of one.

And then Zuko steps back, strides to the window, and lets out a long, low whistle. Druk appears in less than thirty seconds, beating his gigantic wings gracefully as he perches in the windowsill. It's lucky the windows are essentially the size of the entire wall, because Druk has become monstrous over the summer. His yellow eyes find Katara and he lets out a happy screech upon seeing her as he always does.

"Protect her. Do not leave her side," Zuko tells him, and Druk shrieks again, instantly gliding over to settle right beside Katara, his wings clipping a painting on the wall and making it wobble dangerously. He perches on the floor rather than her shoulder, for which she's very grateful. He probably would have crushed her if he'd tried to sit on her like he does Zuko.

Zuko is back in front of her again, his lips gently pressing against hers. "I'll be back soon," he tells her, and then he's gone.

Druk lets out a long, melancholy whine. Katara reaches over and pets his snout, and he pushes eagerly into her hand. "I know," she tells him, tears welling up in her eyes. "Me too, Druk."

* * *

As dramatic as Zuko's departure was, Katara had expected something more dramatic to happen while he was gone.

The truth is that things are just terribly, horribly boring. Nothing even remotely exciting happens, and Katara is losing her mind.

She tries to do the same things that she always does, but finds that she still can't stop thinking about Zuko. Worrying. The best thing she can do is train, because even though it's much more boring alone, it's something physical and she can do it until she's almost mindless. If she's trying to pore over diplomatic paperwork or read in the archives her thoughts immediately spiral to fear again.

Druk, as Zuko had instructed, never leaves her. He curls up around her while she sleeps, flys to every room she is in and waits for her to open the window and let him in, and sits menacingly nearby when she is at meals or in meetings, causing all the advisors to throw him constant, nervous glances.

No one seems intent on harming her, whether because of Druk's presence or not, but Katara does notice that without Zuko present a few of the advisors are less than respectful to her during meetings. They interrupt her more when she speaks. They make snide or condescending remarks whenever she _can_ actually get a word in. It gets steadily worse over the days that Zuko is gone, and by the time the final day has arrived Katara is so frustrated and so on edge from Zuko's absence that she hangs back after a meeting, sharply requesting to speak with one particular advisor who treats her the worst.

"I want to know," Katara says, as soon as the others have filed out of the room, "why you are so rude to me."

"Am I?" he says airily, gathering up papers without looking at her.

Katara's temper flares. He's a perfect target to let out her stress and rage. "You know you are," she snaps. "I would think that you'd be more respectful to someone who helped saved the world from ruin along with the Avatar and your Fire Lord. I demand your respect when we deal with each other, and especially in front of others."

“You know nothing of the world.” He doesn’t even look up at her.

Another flash of fury rushes through Katara, her hands curling at her sides. “I know much more of it than you,” Katara shoots back. “Have you even _been_ outside the Fire Nation except for political trips, filled with parties and festivals?”

He looks up, eyes glinting. “Watch your tongue,” he says. His voice is full of malice. “You would do well to respect your superiors.”

“You are _not_ my superior.” Katara crosses her arms stubbornly. “And I will speak to you however I please.”

He takes a step toward her now, his glare menacing. “I see you have a false sense of importance,” he says, soft and yet dangerous. His eyes flick over her with distaste. Katara’s skin crawls when his eyes linger on the bare skin of her midriff. He’s not leering—in fact his face pulls into a grimace—but it’s still the first time she wishes the Fire Nation clothes covered more. “Fire Lord Zuko may be a young man still, unable to look past a pretty face, generously allowing you at his court. But _I_ have not forgotten what you are. You are a foul, prideful, stupid peasant, and you do not belong here.”

Katara’s face screws up. She’s prepared to scream at him and hurl insults. And perhaps more than a few water whips.

But there’s a sudden roar that makes her jump, accompanied by a scalding heat.

The temperature in the room shoots up several degrees, and she hears the furious beating of wings.

When Katara whirls she sees that Druk has taken off, toward the door, and that he's settling in to perch on—

_Zuko_.

Katara feels almost lightheaded seeing him again. Zuko's here. Zuko has come back.

Druk had breathed a wave of furious fire into the room. It dissipates in the air, harming no one, but still his wings beat repeatedly and he screeches loudly, over and over. Druk’s yellow eyes are trained on the advisor and he is in a high crouch, seemingly waiting for Zuko’s command to fly over and either reduce the man to ashes or simply swallow him whole. Zuko makes no attempt to settle down his dragon. The energy of the sun is hurtling through him again, his golden eyes sparking, his entire body trembling with palpable rage.

A faint warning vibrates through Katara’s mind. His transformation. It’s tonight. He’s more unrestrained than usual.

Zuko slowly stalks forward, his eyes still locked on his advisor. Katara can see waves of heat rolling off him and into the air. Dark, thick smoke is furling off his shaking knuckles.

Druk screeches again, and the advisor stumbles a few steps backward. “Fire Lord,” he rushes to say. “How good to see y—”

“Save it,” Zuko snaps, and Druk shrieks, louder this time, batting his wings threateningly and hurling fire toward the curtains. They catch flame, and Katara rushes to splash water on them and douse the fire, her heart beating wildly.

The advisor is so frightened he can barely fall to his knees. “I—I meant no d—disrespect to you, F—Fire Lord. Please, forgive me!”

“And Master Katara?” Zuko is still prowling toward him. “Did you mean disrespect to her?”

The man’s eyes widen. “O—of course not, Fire Lord!”

Zuko looms up, towers over him, formidable and terrifying. “That’s not what it sounded _or_ looked like,” he says, voice shaking with anger. “What has always been my explicit command to everyone in this court regarding Master Katara?”

Druk roars again when the silence stretches on too long, and the man jumps and flinches, cowering lower to the ground. “Master Katara shall always receive the same reverence and respect as the Fire Lord himself,” he repeats, voice shaking uncontrollably.

“Correct,” says Zuko brusquely. He pauses briefly. "You are banished. Get out of my sight immediately. I will never tolerate anyone that speaks to or about her that way.”

The man’s eyes bulge, his face a mixture of terror and relief. He scrambles to his feet, head still bowed, and starts to back quickly out of the room. Zuko and Druk’s eyes follow him carefully the entire time. When he’s finally gone Zuko marches over to the window, wrenches it open, and says to Druk, his voice still hard, “Make sure he leaves. But you are _not_ permitted to hurt or eat him.”

Druk gives his master a reproachful look, but then bumps his head to Zuko’s and takes flight off his shoulder, into the bright blue sky.

Katara just stands stock still in the middle of the room, almost unable to fully comprehend what just happened.

“ _Zuko_ ,” she gasps, finally having regained her voice.

Zuko turns slowly to face her. She watches him contract, relax before her, some of the simmering anger falling away, even if his eyes are still blazing and his body is still shaking faintly. “I’m so sorry for some of my citizens, Katara," he says finally.

Katara doesn’t even think. Her feet just begin to move, independent of any conscious input from her brain.

She practically sprints across the room and then launches herself at him. He catches her easily, surprise flicking across his face, but she only sees it briefly because then she’s kissing him, curling her legs around his waist as his arms curve around her to hold her up. The noise he makes against her mouth is both pleased and shocked but he responds immediately, tilting his head to kiss her deeper.

Katara’s hands forcefully grip his neck as she nips at his lips. Zuko groans into her mouth and staggers backward, still holding her tightly, scraping a chair across the floor and then colliding loudly with the table. Neither of them notice.

They’re both already panting. The kisses are bruising, fast, passionate. Her entire body is just painfully tense.

Zuko spins and sprawls her out on the table, on her back, his hips pressing into hers as he leans down to keep ravishing her mouth. Katara moans as she feels his cock, already hard against her thigh. She grinds upward against it and he chokes out a groan again, pushing his hips further forward to meet her, to deliver that delicious, necessary friction. If she's feeling this desperate after only a week she can only imagine how he must be feeling.

Dimly, Katara recognizes that they’re probably going to have at it right here. Right on this table.

That feels—dirty. Daring.

It’s thrilling.

Katara reaches up, fumbling with difficulty at his robe in her stupor of desire, needing to pull his clothes off him right this second.

“Wait,” Zuko rasps. “Katara—” His protest is drowned out in a low moan when she slides against him again, her head rolling back with a low keen. “ _Fuck_ —hold on, just—” She rolls against him once more, and a shudder ripples through him. “ _Katara_ —”

“What is it?” She stares up at him, at his disheveled top knot and the way his eyes have almost turned onyx.

“You know what,” Zuko says gruffly, kissing her fiercely again. “We can’t do this here.” He draws away with what appears to be tremendous difficulty, takes her wrist, and begins pulling her away. Katara’s pulse is practically jumping out of her neck.

Just as they are nearing the door, it swings open.

Zuko's top advisor hurries in, his eyes darting about wildly, seemingly looking for where the Fire Lord got off to in the short time they'd been apart. Zuko immediately drops her hand and halts. Something flickers in the man’s eyes when he sees Zuko’s face, and his eyes flit curiously over Katara, but then he hurriedly bows his head low. “Fire Lord,” he murmurs, and then also bows at Katara respectfully. “Hello, Master Katara. I am happy to see you well upon our return." He looks back to Zuko. "Fire Lord, I heard that you have banished your financial advisor. Your dragon was seen flying over him as he was leaving Caldera City. It caused quite a stir.”

Zuko’s eyes gleam. “Good.”

There’s a pause. “I just came to see if you require assistance finding another appropriate person for the position.”

“That would be most welcome,” Zuko says.

The heat and energy radiating off Zuko is still palpable, and the man’s eyes drag over him, looking rather concerned. “If there is anything else I can assist you with, Fire Lord—if you are unwell—”

“I _am_ feeling a little unwell,” says Zuko. “But Master Katara is taking good care of me.”

The man smiles sincerely. “I am glad to hear it. Shall we discuss the new appointment for the position tomorrow?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He exits. Katara gives him approximately five seconds of a head start before she takes Zuko’s hand again and begins pulling him out the door and after her. They only make it two corridors before he yanks her to her left. She gasps in delighted surprise as they stumble into a small, deserted room that’s probably only roughly the size of two closets.

He closes the door behind him, locks it, and his lips are crashing into hers again before she can blink.

“You,” he tells her huskily, between kisses, “are a dangerous temptress.”

“Is that a problem?” she teases, delighting in the way his eyes spark at her when he pulls back. She realizes that she wants to push him. She needs him to come undone and lose control. At least once. She needs to know what it’s like.

He suddenly curses and looks away determinedly, up to the ceiling. “Be careful,” he growls. “It’s been too long. And you know I’m transforming tonight.”

“Yes. I do know that,” she says, giving him a sly look.

He closes his eyes a moment. When he opens them again, they’re full black.

Katara feels a quiver of excitement run through her entire body. Her clit throbs insistently.

“Katara…” His voice is thick, still hanging on to the last vestiges of his self-control. Uncertainty flashes on his face.

She curls her hands around his neck and pulls him down to kiss him. “Please?” she whispers against his lips. “Please let go?”

“What if I—I don’t want to hurt you—” A tremor runs through all his muscles.

“You won’t,” she tells him. “I know you won’t.” Her hands rush to push off his robe and then move to the hem of his trousers, pulling them down. His cock is already hard and massive and ready. The tip is red and his need looks painful. “And I can help make it easier for you,” she breathes, running her hands down over his abdomen and over his strong thighs, dragging her fingernails lightly over his bare skin.

She feels his thighs tighten under her hands and hears his sharp intake of breath. She's never felt more powerful.

When she starts to sink to her knees, kissing slowly down his torso, Zuko seems to finally fully comprehend her meaning. His good eye widens. “I—you don’t need to—”

“I know that,” Katara tells him. “I want to.”

His head falls back with a groan and his fists clench at his sides when she curls both hands around his cock. Even with both her hands they look tiny on him. She pumps him with slow, gentle strokes and he uncurls his fists, slamming his hands into the wall behind him, his chest heaving. He lifts his head to watch her as she leans forward and starts kissing up his thighs, nuzzling into his skin in between.

His eyes flash again. His gaze is half hungry and half dazed, as if he can’t believe this is happening.

Katara wants that dazed look to be there after he comes. She wants those large, masculine thighs trembling when she’s done with him.

She pumps him faster and his hands slam into the wall again, fingers grappling uselessly at the smooth stone. His breath comes in shallow rasps. Katara looks up at him and very, very slowly takes just the tip in her mouth, suckling lightly.

He inhales so sharply it sounds like he could have sliced a lung. His hands automatically shoot out, one cupping her jaw, the other weaving into her hair. His eyes are stormy and intense, locked on hers, his mouth parted as he watches her curl her tongue around his tip and tease it. “ _Fucking_ — _hell_ —” His voice rumbles through his chest like thunder, loud in the small space of the tiny room.

Katara pulls back and gives him a devilish smile. “Do try and keep quiet, Fire Lord,” she purrs. “Someone might be walking down the hall.”

Zuko’s eyes and face darken even further. She hadn’t even known that was possible.

His voice is lower when he speaks, but no less intense. “You cheeky little—oh, _fuck_ —” His voice breaks off into a moan.

Katara had silenced him by sucking lightly on the head again and then dipping lower, taking more of him into the wet warmth of her mouth. Zuko’s hand curls more desperately in her hair and the other tightens on her jaw.

When she starts to slowly bob on him, relaxing her throat to take more and more on each forward movement and using her hands for what she can’t fit, he makes a strangled sound and his head falls back again. She glides one of her hands over his thigh. Up his hips, over his abdomen. He feels so good, so hard and yet smooth under her fingertips. She moans quietly around him, and he makes a harsh, guttural sound in response she’s never heard him make before but that sets fire to her insides.

She starts to suck and lick him faster, flicking her tongue around his head or dragging it along the underside of his cock, reveling in how that makes his whole body jerk and a sound of utter abandon fall out of his mouth. She hollows her cheeks, taking him deeper and deeper until she’s partially gagging. But she just moans and tries to take him further, keeping her gaze upward and locked on his.

His eyes are hazy as he watches her. He can barely speak. “That’s…you’re…make me…lose my mind…”

Katara suddenly slows her rapid pace. The louder sounds of her gags and his cock hitting the back of her throat cease as she starts to lick lightly around his head again, kissing and sucking it, tasting him.

"You're tormenting me." His face is full of desperation. His shuddering fingers tighten even more in her hair, pulling slightly.

Katara reaches up and threads her fingers into his, pulling his hand back behind her head and placing it there firmly. Her other hand digs into his lower back and pointedly pushes him slightly forward.

Again, his non-scarred eye widens and she sees the comprehension flick across his face.

And then it’s replaced by something completely ferocious. Katara feels more slick accumulate between her thighs at the sight. He hasn’t let go completely yet, but he will. He will when he fucks her. She’ll make sure of it. She knows he’s so close to snapping.

“You want me to fuck your mouth? Is that it?” His eyes glint down at her.

She nods, and then pulls away to teasingly run her tongue along the underside, from the base all the way to the tip.

His eyes flash again, and both hands come to hold her head, his fingers bunching into tight fists in her hair. “I can do that,” he growls, pushing against her lips. She opens just enough for him to slide in and pumps roughly in and out of her mouth, using his hands to push her head down his cock and drag it back up again for more force. “You like this?” He grits the words out, and she gives a muffled moan in response. “Fuck…” He speeds up, bumping the back of her throat on each thrust. “ _Yes_ —can’t believe—your pretty little mouth wrapped around me—drive me wild—”

The words send Katara into a craze. She feels feverish. Her eyes are watering with the effort of taking all of him but she doesn’t care. The way his brow furrows and he bites his lip as he rhythmically juts into her mouth is one of the sexiest things she’s ever seen.

Painful fire pools in her abdomen.

“That’s it…” She sees his impending peak settle in his eyes, over his face, feels his body tense. “I’m—you have to—”

He makes to moves his hands, about to draw away and stop, but Katara reaches up again and pins his hands where they are, urging him on. Something like a furious snarl escapes him and he starts to push relentlessly in and out of her mouth again. Faster. Then more halted. He’s so close. His eyes are still staring at her but they’ve dimmed with pleasure, his jaw starting to go slack.

“Oh fuck,” he rasps faintly. His body spasms. “Fuck, yes, I’m—Katara, I’m coming—”

Zuko’s hands slide out of her hair and down to hold her face as his cock jerks in her mouth.

He explodes into her, his warm come splashing onto her tongue. She swallows and swallows as he continues twitching, emptying his load down her throat. Her hands rest on his legs and she can feel them shaking with the effort of holding himself up. His eyes squeeze shut and he emits quiet little moans with every pulse, running his hands desperately over her cheekbones.

When it’s over he slumps backward against the wall, panting. Katara drops her eyes to his cock to focus on licking carefully up and down the length and around his head until she’s taken every drop of him.

When she pulls away and looks up into his eyes, her abdomen clenches and a shiver runs up her spine.

The look on his face is positively feral.

He has finally snapped; his control is gone.


	7. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL I did not expect to be able to do smutty Sunday this weekend, but here we are!
> 
> No really, this chapter is 95% smut. If you’re not here for the smut (I really cannot imagine how that is possible with a story that’s like 90% smut and never pretended to be otherwise, but hey I’m still glad you’re here and you'll like the next chapter a lot more), you could literally read the last 5% of this chapter for Plot Happenings and that’s it.
> 
> If you are here for the smut…well then. Pull up a seat, here’s some wine, hope you enjoy the continued kinda kinky dragonish sex. It is hilarious I thought this would only be five chapters.
> 
> Finally, thank you for giving kudos and to the amazing people leaving kind comments. That stuff is writer's fuel.🥰

* * *

Katara slowly rises to her feet.

Zuko watches her move without blinking, still panting. She expects him to step forward and pounce her, but he doesn’t. Instead he clothes himself, yanking up his trousers and stooping to get his robe and slip it back on, tying it loosely.

And _then_ he’s upon her, pressing her into the wall. He ducks his head to ravish her neck and she lets out a breathy little whimper.

“Pick a word.” His voice has that dark, seductive quality to it that make her knees suddenly feel like water.

“A—a word?” The room is spinning. She can’t think properly with his head buried in the skin of her neck, his breath warm but making her shiver.

“If I hear this word from you, I will stop immediately.” One of his hands lightly traces the front of her throat. “Pick one. Now.”

“I don’t—ah—water,” Katara gasps. Her knees are knocking together.

“Water,” he murmurs. “Good. Try it first.”

“Zuko—”

“ _Try it_ ,” he insists, pressing his body closer against hers before curling one hand around her jaw and kissing her breathless.

Katara barely manages to break away from his mouth. “Water,” she pants out, gripping his shoulders; but then he’s out of her grasp, stepping away, putting as much distance between them as he can in the tiny room.

He’s still gazing at her like he’s ready to devour her, but that’s all he does. “You see? You say it, I stop. Do you feel safe?”

Katara knows this is all something that needs to be talked about if he’s to let his inner animal loose on her. She appreciates it, she really does, but currently she’s so sexually frustrated that she can’t help but feel extremely impatient. This is _not_ what she imagined losing control would look like. But now that the technicalities are out of the way—

She sets her shoulders and looks him dead in the eye. “Yes,” she says fiercely. “Now you’d better fuck me, and don’t you dare hold back.”

Zuko snarls. Katara sees how his body starts shaking uncontrollably again.

His fists are tightly curled at his sides, releasing smoke as they always do when he's worked up. Waves of heat are shimmering off him, like there's too much for him to contain. The little room they are in keeps getting warmer and warmer, and he keeps shaking harder and harder until—

Zuko jerks his head sharply upward and breathes a stream of fire at the ceiling, chest heaving, before his blackened eyes travel back to hers.

There’s a tingling at the base of Katara’s spine, and her eyes widen at the look on his face.

In a flash Zuko has rushed forward and taken her by the waist, lifted her, and hoisted her right over his shoulder like she’s a sack of feathers. “Zuko,” Katara gasps, hanging upside down and staring at the ground. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to my bed.” His voice is rough as he wrenches open the door and steps into the corridor, but somehow it still comes out almost like a purr. “I will take you in my own bed where you belong.”

Katara’s breath catches. Dragons are territorial. Possessive.

He’s going to utterly destroy her. _This_ is more like it. She starts to smile as the tingling spreads further up her spine.

“Aren’t you worried someone will see us?” Her voice is breathy. She doesn’t even think she sounds like herself.

“Not even a fucking little. You’re mine.”

His footsteps quicken. Katara could stop him with her word, but she doesn’t. She can’t really say she cares anymore either.

They make it to his room without running into anyone, which is a small miracle. He kicks the door closed and sets her down; she stumbles, but he already has her pinned against the nearest wall again, a hand sliding up her throat. Katara just stares up at him her own gaze just as blown out by lust as his. “Don’t you dare be quiet,” he warns her darkly. “I want the whole palace knowing you’re mine when I’m through with you. I want you screaming my name.” Katara feels almost dizzy. She can’t believe half the things that come out of his mouth.

His head buries in the side of her neck again, his hand still wrapped around the front. Dominating. Keeping her still. Tilting her head back to expose the smooth skin there further. Katara aches to be touched. Her whole body is trembling.

He breathes her in and releases a shuddering sigh. “You have no idea…what you do to me…” He growls deeply into the skin of her throat and she clutches harder at him as the vibrations send pleased shivers through her whole body.

“Everything is so good with you,” she whispers back, reaching up and weaving her fingers through his hair. She feels his entire body suddenly freeze against hers and the hand around her throat tightens just slightly. “Always so good.”

Zuko pulls back to stare at her. His expression tells her that he wants to lay waste to her.

And then he’s kissing her relentlessly, his hands ensnaring her face, and her mind dissipates into nothing.

Keeping up with the desperate pace of his lips on hers is difficult. She grips his hair tighter, tight enough to pull, but he doesn’t seem to care. Maybe he doesn’t even notice. He just holds her jaw and neck fiercely, tilting her head exactly the way he wants it to best explore her mouth. His searing hands slide down her dress, palming her breasts, thumbs running over the peaks of her nipples, already hard and tender through the fabric.

She wriggles against him. He’s so close to her, but it doesn’t matter. It’s never close enough with him. Not when it comes to Zuko. Not ever.

He shrugs off his own robe and Katara’s eyes drift appreciatively to his torso, her hands coming to skim his skin.

Without warning, both his hands come to the front of her dress. With a violent movement that makes the muscles in his arms swell, he rips it clean off her with a harsh snarl and throws it aside, dipping his head immediately to swipe his tongue along her collarbone.

She lets out a startled gasp—inflamed, incited; the fire in her kindled and burning through her nerves, her lungs, all her senses.

Katara doesn’t think she’s ever been more aware of the emptiness between her thighs as she is right then.

She lets out another gasp when he does the same to her wraps, leaving her already completely bare. “That’s better,” he growls, and then his hands run over her ribs, around her sides, and press into the middle of her back, lifting her. She scoops her legs around his waist automatically, clinging to him, letting him hold her up there against the wall as he kisses her again with increasing urgency. Her fingers curve desperately around his jaw, holding his face. She loves it so much. She’s become so used to seeing his face everyday.

She just runs her thumbs over his cheekbones and cherishes the feeling of him.

For a moment they just stare at each other, inches apart, breathing hard. His eyes are flaming.

Zuko suddenly shifts his arms and curls them lower, hooking them below her knees and hoisting her up. He’s lifting her higher and higher, his hands still holding her steady around her rib cage.

“Oh fuck,” she breathes, incredibly turned on by the ease with which he pushes her up the wall until her legs are hanging over his shoulders and she’s straddling his face. She squirms a little. The feeling of his warm breath right on her core is almost unbearable.

But he doesn’t make her wait long. He moves forward to bury his face in her and she cries out, her back curving out off the wall and her hands desperately sliding around the panels, looking for something to hold on to. He sucks and flicks at her clit, nips up and down her, licks at the slick flooding out of her. He hums into her and makes appreciative moans and she finds his hair to grip as she pants and tries to keep her sanity.

His eyes never leave her. She can see their amber color turned up toward her face.

Still watching her, he sinks slowly down to his knees. Even when he moves he’s holding her steady. She’s not afraid she’ll fall. Katara whimpers when his gaze sparks and he growls into her. He’s on his knees, working her with his mouth, and she doesn’t recall ever feeling quite so—worshiped.

Zuko moves to stand, allowing her to slowly slide down until her face is level with his again, her legs still hanging over his arms. He kisses her and starts stepping toward the bed, depositing her on it gentler than she’d expected.

He straightens and his eyes move up and down her a moment before he crawls over her to kiss her stomach. And slowly upward. His tongue laves at her breasts and swirls around her right nipple and she shudders. “I missed you too much,” he groans. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” Katara’s chest is rising and falling rapidly. “I missed you.”

“Good girl.” He moves to give attention to her other breast with his mouth and a warm hand slides up to knead the other. “Did you think about me?” His teeth lightly graze her nipple before he suckles on it and Katara thrashes.

“Fuck—yes.” Her tone has turned pleading.

His lips trail up to her collarbone. His hand travels lower. “Every day?”

“Yes. Yes. Every day.” Her legs tremble when his fingers ghost her inner thighs.

“ _Very_ good girl.” His voice has dropped an octave and Katara swears it makes her instantly wetter.

Suddenly, he takes her hips and flips her roughly over and onto her stomach. His fingers curve around, dragging through her folds, and she hears him make a low, rumbling moan from deep in his chest. “Wet all for me, isn’t it? Aren’t you? _Mine_.” She feels him faintly vibrating behind her, and then hears the unmistakable sounds of more fire streaming out of his mouth and the increase in temperature that accompanies it.

She hears a rustle of fabric drop to the floor. He runs his tongue up along the indent of her spine before straightening again. “Hips up,” Zuko commands, nudging her knees apart with his until she’s sprawled out wide on the bed. Arms shaking with the effort of holding herself up, she obeys, pressing her palms flat into the mattress, back arched. For a moment there’s only the sound of their harsh breathing filling the room.

And then Katara feels his head teasing her entrance. She moans quietly, biting her lip, desperately trying not to clench her thighs. The anticipation is painful. It hurts to breathe.

He traces one thigh with his hand, tilting it out further, before he pushes into her; slowly, but all at once.

Katara gives a guttural cry, fingers bunching in the sheets.

The angle is so deep. Deeper than any other before this.

Dimly, she’s aware that one of his hands comes to fiercely grip her hip, digging into the skin, and the other comes to the middle of her back, pushing her roughly down until her upper body is all the way into the mattress.

She feels vulnerable and helpless under him like this, pinned between him and the bed. It’s such a primal position. It’s fucking incredible.

His hand stays there, keeping her firmly down. His voice sounds savage. “ _Fuck_ yes. I missed this. So tight. So fucking warm.” He starts to thrust. His fingers bunch into her hip and yank it back to meet each of his sharp movements. Every time he pushes all the way in her body quivers. It’s just right on the edge of being too much.

“Ohhh gooood—” Her eyes roll back in her head. She lets out choked whimpers with each jerk of his hips.

She’s lost. Just lost in pure sensation and the sounds. The loud slapping of his skin as he fucks into her, his erratic breathing, his low groans.

Zuko pauses and his hand ghosts up her back, along her spine. It wraps into her hair and he yanks, pulling her up, lifting her torso off the bed until her back is pressed against his chest. Katara lets out a little whine at the new angle; he moves slower, rolling his hips and not snapping, tilting upward to always hit a spot that makes her yelp. “You like that?” She feels his teeth scrape the side of her neck before his other hand wraps around it tightly. “Answer me,” Zuko demands, pulling her hair so her back is curved even more. “And remember your word.”

“I—I—”

“ _Do you like when I fuck you_ _like this_?” He stops moving. His hand tightens around her neck.

“Yes—!” Katara feels almost delirious. “Don’t stop.”

The snarl he makes is almost inhuman. Another furl of scorching fire is shot into the air out of his mouth, this time above their heads. He starts to fuck her again. Hard. Fast. Katara sees stars. “Oh shit, oh my—fuck, fuck, fuck—” she practically sobs.

“ _Yes_.” His voice is right in her ear, his hand moving from her hair to pull her wrists behind her back. The other still grips her waist. Rough and possessive. “That’s right. Fucking— _yes_. I won’t stop. I promise. You’re mine. Every _fucking_ day I’ll fuck you until you come around me. However you want. Anything you want. _Mine_. My good girl. My good, perfect girl.”

It feels like the connections in her brain are unraveling. Disconnecting. All that matters are the things he’s saying, the pounding sensation he’s driving into her, over and over and over. His hips snap even more brutally. He presses his chest closer to her back, pulls her higher, and she lets out a strangled gasp when his cock bumps her cervix.

His hand reaches around and starts to rub her clit in time with his thrusts and her vision briefly goes all white.

“ _Zuk_ _o_ —” she chokes.

“That’s it.” She feels his forehead press into her upper back, hears how is breathing is getting ragged and faltering. “That’s it. Come around me. Clench around me. Only me.” His voice drops to a feral growl again, his hand tangling in her hair and pulling her head to the side to kiss her. “Say my name,” he orders against her lips. “Say it. You’re mine. _You’re mine_ _._ ”

“Yours,” Katara gasps. “Yours. _Zuko_. Zuko, I’m—I’m so close—”

Katara throws her head back further into his chest as she feels it approaching. The simultaneous sensations of him pummeling into her, his fingers rapidly working her…her whines and cries build and build and build and—

White flashes behind her eyelids again.

Katara’s whole body surges with heat and light and she convulses violently from the force of her orgasm. And she does scream. Twice, louder the first time and then again, quieter, as she shudders uncontrollably.

“That’s it…good girl…” she hears him groan into her ear before he nips at it.

He pulls out of her, turns her over, presses her into the bed with his body, and begins kissing her.

It reminds her of the first time they’d had sex, the way he systematically kisses her. He just kisses her slowly for a while, his tongue weaving leisurely with hers and one large hand holding her face until she’s almost moaning again from that alone. And then he repeats the actions that had reminded her of grooming. Kissing down her neck. Across her shoulders. Down her arms. Her chest, her stomach, her legs.

Katara just lies very still, breathing heavily. His mouth on her like this, right now, is gentle and ethereal. She’s pretty sure her eyes are glazed over.

He kisses and nibbles on her until she’s starting to press her thighs together again. But his hands come to them and force them apart, his face coming to hover between her legs again. “Spread,” he demands. His voice is deep and when Katara hazily finds his gaze she sees that it still looks feral.

She inches her legs a bit apart, feeling a self-conscious heat creep up into her neck.

Zuko’s eyes glint dangerously. “ _Wider_.”

Face flaming now, Katara does as she’s told. She feels completely exposed and at his mercy. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. She does like that. And she has her word. It’s just that a certain shyness is creeping in. She’s never let anyone else openly gaze at her so closely like this before. The look on his face is raw and animal and clearly not disliking the view, but she still tilts her head up to stare at the ceiling, squeezing her eyes shut.

So it takes her by surprise when she feels his lips softly kissing along her, and she jerks her hips upward with a gasp. He laves carefully at her and flicks his tongue in all the places he knows by now that she likes until she’s whimpering.

He pulls back and mutters into her thighs, planting kisses on them, “I’m going to make you come again.”

Katara can’t answer. Her voice is momentarily gone, and the familiar heat has already built in her abdomen to something reckless.

And then Zuko lifts her and carries her off toward his bathroom. He turns on his shower, shoots flames at a boiler sitting on the wall to heat the water, and then pulls her inside, already kissing her. She melts against him completely, putting most of her weight on him. Her legs are tired, and she knows he’ll hold her up. He curls an arm around her waist and backs up, pulls her after him, into the stream of water.

She sighs when it hits her. It’s warm and pleasant on her skin. Her hair is becoming damp and heavy, hanging forward, and Zuko brushes it back before he leans down to kiss her again, tilting his head and gliding his tongue against hers.

His hands tease her, roaming over her body and rubbing her clit, first slowly and then in quicker circles. It’s not long before he curves a hand between her legs to check if she’s ready for him again and Katara is gripping at his slick chest, tilting her head back with a low keen when he touches her.

Katara hooks one of her legs around his waist, pressing her toes into the shower wall to steady herself, and he groans into her mouth when she wraps a firm hand around his cock and guides it to her entrance again.

He pushes forward and into her and her jaw goes slack, staring up at him with glassy eyes.

Zuko’s eyelashes have water droplets in them. His hair hangs in his eyes, half wet, and she runs her fingers through it, moves it away, gazing at him a moment before she moves to grip his neck and kiss him to muffle her cries when he starts to drive into her.

His hands tighten, one of them drifting along the thigh of her outstretched leg and helping her hold it up as he picks up the pace.

His breathing is stilted when he slows down again. He’s getting close. She knows his breathing patterns by now. His thrusts are more punishing and rough even at this pace, rolling upward to bump her clit each time. The effect is electric. This is far more sensual here in the shower, with the water, pressed tightly against his wet body, face to face and kissing him.

“That’s good,” Katara breathes. “Oh that’s… _oh_ …”

“Yeah?” His eyes are still wild. They’re right in front of hers. They’re so close their noses are brushing.

Katara whimpers when he delivers a particularly harsh thrust. “Yes. So—deep.”

Zuko’s eyes glint. One hand trails over her breast and squeezes lightly before gripping her jaw tightly, looking into her eyes.

“Faster. Harder,” Katara pleads in a whisper.

His eyes get brighter. He looks almost fevered. His mouth is on hers, rough and wanting, and he rolls his hips faster. Katara’s hands reach up to grip his biceps, digging her nails in. They bulge deliciously whenever he moves. She clings to him helplessly as he starts to ram into her, her body jolting upward and back, slapping against the wall so hard she thought she might have bruises after. She doesn’t care at all.

“Like this?” His voice is a snarl again.

“Just—like—that,” Katara tells him breathlessly, between slamming into the wall. “Oh— _fuck_ —”

He speeds up even more. Her whines build into a crescendo, echoing loudly in the tiled shower as the heat in her abdomen blazes higher and higher, to something intolerable. It can’t be contained in her much longer. Her eyes open, only just now realizing she’d shut them, and find his, locked hungrily on her face. His hand is still on her jaw, tilting it up to face him. His forehead comes down to hers.

Katara is so close. Almost there. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself closer to him. His slick body glides against hers and the feeling of his cock stretching her is transcendent.

Zuko’s jaw is clenched. His eyes are getting clouded, his movements more erratic. There’s a desperation on his face, and his voice is hoarse. “You’re gonna—make me come again. Wanna come inside you. You—fuck. Need you. Always you.”

She feels the crest of her wave approaching. She grips Zuko’s hair and kisses him, panting against his mouth as she pushes her hips out to meet his. “I want you to come. Want to make you come. Zuko, just— _please_ —”

His answering moan is one of surrender. His hips falter, and he lets out a low, hoarse shout before he buries it in her neck, muffling it, both arms wrapping all the way around her. His body rolls against hers, pushing deep into her, pressing tight against her as he comes. At the feeling of him convulsing in her Katara tips over the edge within seconds.

She fractures. She disintegrates. She thrashes against the wall and his body as if an actual, physical wave is lashing through her.

The feeling of him coming in her—hearing or seeing him so unguarded, how he succumbs, feeling him bathe her insides—it’s always is so intense, so extraordinary, that it sends her careening to an impalpable level of exhilaration every single time. Like she’s launched into a whole other existence; one with just the two of them, where only they exist and only they matter.

His body is still jolting, still coming in her. His hands caress her back. His tone is worshipful, muffled in her neck. “Fuck…oh Katara…”

When the currents are finally finished rolling through Katara’s body her legs just give out completely.

She would have slid all the way down to the floor and just collapsed into a heap if his arms hadn’t tightened, holding her steady, pressing her between the wall and his chest. He slides out of her and gathers her up. He then turns and slides down the slippery wall with a shaky sigh until he’s sitting on the ground, Katara tucked in his lap, her head buried under his chin.

For a long time it’s quiet except the sounds of their labored breathing and the warm water gently falling on their bodies.

Finally, after Katara finally catches her breath she says ruefully, “I did like that dress, you know.”

Zuko’s answering, raspy laugh rumbles through his chest. “I'm sorry. I warned you,” he says, slowly kissing her forehead.

Katara closes her eyes at the feeling and sighs contentedly. She feels so whole. So warm, so at ease.

 _I_ _want this every day_ , she thinks hazily.

The intensity of these emotions make a lump rise in her throat. She has to tell him. She can’t wait any more. She can’t have him say the things he does to her and just go on with her life. She’s debating how to best broach the subject when his hand comes to her chin, tilts it up, and kisses her.

It’s not as though he never kisses her afterward. He does. But this feels different somehow.

He’s very gentle. It’s almost chaste, but it still makes her heart flutter almost painfully in her chest. Eventually it deepens, and she loses track of time, but she knows they kiss quite a while. When he finally stops, it takes her a moment to open her eyes afterward. When she does, he’s already looking at her. He runs a hand through her wet hair, his eyes scanning her face.

“Katara…” he murmurs.

Her heart has shot up to her throat. “Yes?”

“Is this—do you—” He appears very uncertain.

“What is it?” His lips are still so close she brushes them when she speaks.

“Did you agree to this because I’m different this summer?”

“What do you mean?”

His brow furrows. “Uh…I mean that I’m—you know. Stronger. And bigger. Is that why you wanted to do this? With me?”

Katara just stares at him. It had never occurred to her that he might feel that way. “No,” she says earnestly, reaching out to touch his cheek.

A small smile starts to creep over his face, the kind that always warms her heart. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” She tucks her head back under his chin, tracing a hand along his chest. “But you’d have had to do this with someone no matter what, right? Was I just—here? Does it matter that it’s been me at all?”

Zuko’s hands come to her shoulders and he pulls her back to stare at her incredulously. “Wait, _w_ _hat_?”

“Well I mean—” Katara is rather flustered now at the look on his face. It’s a mixture of appalled and angry. “Well, you know. With the whole dragon mating thing it seems like it could be anyone, really. I just figured that—”

There’s suddenly a series of loud booming sounds make them both jump. It takes them a moment to realize that it’s knocking on the door to Zuko’s quarters. The bathroom door had been left open in their haste to get to the shower, and they just stare outward for a moment, petrified and listening carefully. The series of knocks happens again, even louder this time.

“Come _on_ , Zuko,” comes a very familiar monotone. “I know you must be in there. No one can find you around the palace.”

Katara almost chokes. Zuko has gone completely still against her.

“Is that…” Katara whispers, heart beating like mad.

“Yes,” Zuko mutters, shifting to stand them up and setting her carefully on her feet. He scrubs himself distractedly, quickly, and then steps out, toweling himself off. “She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. I’d better go talk to her.” Katara must have looked uncertain because Zuko suddenly takes her wrist, pulls her to the edge of the shower, and kisses her fiercely.

“Just enjoy a nice shower, okay?” he says. “Relax. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll be right back.”

And with that he’s sweeping out of the bathroom, closing the door carefully behind him, leaving Katara under the pleasant spray of hot water and with her head buzzing. She bites her lip, her heart still pounding harder than it should.

She really, really hopes Zuko either remembers to hide her torn clothes, or that he just doesn’t let Mai in his room at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come join me in the void, if you so desire](https://ladyaniko.tumblr.com/)


	8. Three Minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy approaching end of 2020! Another huge thank you to everyone reading this and showing love.🥰

* * *

Zuko is practically fuming by the time he has dressed, cleaned up the evidence of his previous activities, and wrenched open the door.

Mai is standing there, arms folded. She arches a nonchalant eyebrow when she sees him, glancing over his still slightly dripping hair. “I asked to see the Fire Lord, but no one has seen him,” she says. “I knew you must be hiding out up here.”

“I’m not hiding out,” Zuko says tersely. He doesn’t step back to allow her in. “What do you want?”

“Why so testy? I’m here to help you, Zuko.”

Zuko softens. It’s not Mai’s fault she showed up at the worst possible time. “With what?”

“Politics,” says Mai. “Those uprisings you’re having a problem with? I have some helpful information for you.”

This gives Zuko pause. This _is_ very important. He subtly glances over his shoulder and Mai doesn’t miss this. “Am I not allowed in your room anymore or something? Are you really going to treat me like anyone else? Zuko, geez. What’s with you today?”

Zuko sighs. “Fine. But just five minutes, Mai. If it takes longer we can go over it later.”

Mai rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

He steps back, listening carefully, but he can’t hear the sounds of falling water coming from the bathroom. He doesn’t necessarily care if Mai knows about Katara—if he’s honest he wants _everyone_ to know about Katara, wants to proudly parade her, really—but the look on Katara’s face when they’d heard Mai had clearly been one of very specifically not wanting to be seen.

Mai steps after him, her eyes trailing about the room rather wistfully. “Oh good,” she says in her typical monotone. “You took down that one hideous painting that was hanging over there.” She gestures vaguely toward the far wall.

“Mai, for fuck’s sake—” Zuko begins irritably, but she cuts him off.

“What happened to you since I was here last?” she asks. “You look like a… _mountain_ or something.” She pokes at his chest experimentally. “I mean, really. That actually just hurt my finger.”

Zuko’s mouth twitches and he reaches up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. “Long story.”

“Well, since my precious five minutes are dwindling maybe you can tell me later,” Mai deadpans. “So—”

But before she can speak her words are drowned out by a bloodcurdling screech coming from the bathroom. Mai jumps and her eyes widen, and Zuko’s blood turns to ice in his veins. Something instinctive flares up in him and all he cares about is possible damage done to Katara. He whirls and starts moving toward the door without thinking, pushing it open and looking wildly around.

Katara is still in the shower, still very much naked, pressed against one of the walls to avoid the falling water. Her chest is heaving and she looks mortified. “The water went ice cold,” she says in a small voice. He can see her shivering from here.

He steps in and closes the door. “Oh fuck I’m—I’m _so_ sorry. I should have heated the boiler again before I left,” he says. “I was distracted. Here, let me…” He raises his arm, about to shoot more fire at it so her water will be hot again.

“No, I’d…really just like some clothes and to leave.” She won’t look at him now.

Zuko wants to groan out loud. He’s _such_ a fucking idiot.

He steps forward even further. “Mai is still here,” he says, lowering his voice. “I told her just five minutes—if you want to wait—”

But her face falls. He’d said something wrong. Zuko wants to kick himself. She looks so forlorn that he hastens to say, “Not that you have to. I’m not trying to—to hide you. I’m just trying to make you most comfortable, Katara.”

Katara looks up. She appears marginally happier. “Okay,” she says, smiling a little.

“I’ll bring you something,” Zuko promises, and then he turns on his heels again, exits the bathroom, and shuts the door.

Zuko sweeps over to his wardrobe, trying not to feel Mai’s eyes burning a hole into his back. “What the hell was that?” she demands.

“The boiler went cold,” Zuko says shortly, pushing through his robes to find something suitable.

“Wait,” Mai says. She sounds aghast. “Holy shit—you’re—are you _sleeping_ with someone?” Zuko grits his teeth and ignores her. He fishes out a robe and turns around, but Mai is standing right in his path. Her eyebrows are raised. “Zuko.”

“Mai,” he replies, tone clipped. He deftly steps around her.

He hears her sigh of impatience but ignores that too, slipping carefully into the bathroom again.

“Here,” he says softly, handing Katara a towel and one of his robes. He watches her sheepishly a moment, trying to think of something better to say. But still he can only think of, “I’m really sorry I forgot about the water. I’m an idiot.”

“That’s okay.” She gives him a brief, flustered smile as she starts to dry off.

Zuko thinks it’s best he probably leaves now, before the remaining water droplets on her skin distract him further. The little feeling of want in his gut hasn’t returned to careen out of control again quite yet but he figures it won’t take long. Stupid curse.

Mai is still in the same spot when Zuko returns from the bathroom, her arms folded. “Did that cut into my five minutes?”

Zuko groans. “Mai, just get to the point, would you?”

“It would really be better if we could sit down and I explain everything and not feel rushed,” she says. “It really is important, so do you want to eat together? We can talk it all out. And then I wanted to do some training afterward. I haven’t done any real throwing in ages.”

“I—can’t train with you tonight,” Zuko says. He avoids her eyes. “I’m busy.”

Mai raises her eyebrow again. “With your lover?”

“No,” snaps Zuko, glaring. “With—other stuff.” _With sprouting wings and flying all over the Fire Nation_ , he thinks wryly.

The door to the bathroom suddenly clicks open and both his and Mai’s heads snap over.

Katara is inching out, biting her lip and looking incredibly apprehensive.

Zuko’s very first thought—well, his first thought _after_ his brain goes blank and he regains the ability to think properly again—is that he should have known putting Katara in his clothing would ignite something in him. She’s swimming in them. They don’t hug her body at all, and the bottom of his robe drags along on the ground. The sleeves long surpass her fingertips. It’s like she’s some sort of Fire Nation phantom.

And yet still the undeniable urge to walk over, yank them up, and fuck her while she’s wrapped in something of _his_ is almost painful. Not right now, obviously. Even without Mai here he thinks he would, miraculously, actually be too tired for more sex right now.

But maybe next time he’ll just put one of his shirts on her so he can inch it up and—

He hastily coughs and scrambles to think of something else.

“Um. Hi Mai,” Katara says, very quietly.

Rather than answering, Mai just starts to laugh. Her eyes swing to Zuko. “This,” she says, “is _supremely_ unsurprising.”

Katara’s eyes are darting between them as she lightly chews on her bottom lip. She doesn’t seem to know whether Mai is joking or not. Zuko understands that. Often when Mai is being sarcastic she is just as poker-faced as all the other times. Picking up on any change in her mood is a true art form. It had driven him crazy when they were together, but he’d still gotten good at it. And he knows that she’s being serious right now. “Well, congratulations then, Fire Lord,” Mai continues stonily, and Katara blinks.

“What?” she asks, voice even smaller than it had been in the bathroom.

“Mai,” Zuko growls, fists clenching.

“I’m congratulating Zuko for finally growing a pair,” Mai says. Her eyes trail over Katara impassively.

Zuko flushes and runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Mai, for fuck’s _sake_ —”

But there’s a loud clunk against the window, and this time it’s Mai that lets out a little scream, stumbling backward toward the door and clutching at her heart. Druk is hovering outside the window, wings beating, clearly waiting to come inside. “That’s a—there’s a—”

“Dragon, yes,” says Zuko, walking over to the window and letting Druk in. He nuzzles his master’s face and then his eyes flick to Mai, the newcomer. “My dragon, specifically,” Zuko tells her, unable to help grinning at the look on Mai’s face. She gasps again when Druk flies over and perches before her, studying her intently. “Druk won’t hurt you,” Zuko explains, as Mai presses herself flat against the wall while Druk cautiously sniffs her.

He makes an affectionate sound, bumps his head against her lightly, and then steps back. Mai's eyes are slightly glazed and her mouth is still open in surprise, but Druk is no longer paying her any attention. His yellow eyes have slid over and landed on Katara.

Druk shrieks—a raucous, excitable noise that likely frightened anyone that happened to be in the nearest corridor—before he takes off and heads straight for Katara.

Zuko expects him to stop and greet her as usual. When it becomes apparent that his momentum isn’t slowing down, Katara’s eyes widen and she starts to stumble backward. Zuko opens his mouth to shout, but it’s too late. Druk bowls straight into her, knocking her flat on her back and perching himself on her knees. He makes a happy roaring sound, bumping his head with hers, wings starting to curl around her protectively. Zuko rushes forward, feeling panicked. “Druk! _Get off_.”

He whistles, and Druk immediately moves away, though he only shuffles off to the side and stares over at Katara hopefully, wings ruffling, clearly still wanting her undivided attention. “What are you _doing_?” Zuko hisses at his dragon as he reaches for Katara. “You can’t just go flying into people like that! You could have hurt her.” He helps her up carefully.

Katara looks a little shaken, but she’s also smiling. “Don’t be mad at him, Zuko,” she says, rather breathlessly. “He was just happy to see me.”

“He still needs to learn he can’t do that, Katara,” Zuko says, sending Druk a very stern look.

Druk looks cowed, but immediately perks up when Katara pets his snout, pushing eagerly into her hand. Zuko wants to tell her that it might not be best to pet him now since it might encourage his behavior, but she looks so soft when she pets him that he can’t bring himself to do it.

“I’m sorry, but what the _hell_ has been going on at this palace in the past few months?” They all look over to see Mai watching them.

“Not much. Just got a pet dragon. No big deal,” Zuko says, shrugging.

“Oh clearly,” says Mai, eyeing Druk with clear distrust. He just snorts happily at her.

There’s a brief silence.

“Anyway,” says Katara, her voice a little shrill as the awkwardness infuses itself back in the room. “I’ll be, um…going.”

“Does this mean I get longer than five minutes?” Mai presses dryly. “And we can go eat something? I’m starving, Zuko.”

“Yes. Fine,” Zuko snaps.

Katara’s eyes dart between them a moment before she moves to the door. Druk lets out a little whine at seeing her move away, and she goes back to pat him kindly one last time before she heads away again. But Mai speaks before Katara can leave. “Hey, water-bender.”

Katara pauses with her hand on the door handle but doesn’t turn it. “What?” She sounds wary.

“Any chance you want to spar with me tonight? Apparently Zuko is busy with ‘ _other stuff’_ so I’ll be incredibly bored.”

Katara slowly turns and stares at her as if she’s again debating whether Mai is being sarcastic or not. Zuko knows that she’s not, but Mai’s face expression changes so little that Katara seems very unnerved. “Um…so, just to clarify, when you say that you want to spar with me, you’re suggesting that we get together and you chuck knives at me?”

“That’s right,” says Mai.

Katara swallows, eyes darting between her and Zuko. “Um…”

“Unless you don’t think you can block me properly?” Mai’s lips curve slightly upward. There’s a hint of a challenge in her voice.

Katara’s eyes spark and suddenly Zuko wonders if it’s a very bad idea that these two saw each other under these circumstances. Mai doesn’t _seem_ upset about Katara, but…well, he never did perfect reading her, did he? And Katara reads her even worse than Zuko does.

“Sounds good,” Katara says, her voice harder now. “Nine o’clock? The largest courtyard?”

“I’ll be there.” Mai raises an eyebrow, and Katara turns again to leave.

“Katara,” Zuko says quickly, before she goes, and she peeks over her shoulder at him. “I’ll come find you before—my…other stuff.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Mai scoff and roll her eyes, but Katara just nods at him and gives him a small smile that makes his stomach flutter.

“Yeah. Okay.” Her eyes move between him and Mai one last time, and then she’s gone.

As soon as the door closes, Mai smirks at him. “Don’t,” Zuko warns her.

“You know what I want to hear.”

“Mai—"

“Come on, it’s easy. ‘ _You were right, Mai_.’” She folds her arms.

Zuko sighs. “You were right, Mai,” he mumbles.

“Sweet victory,” she deadpans, before jabbing her thumb at the door. “So, food? I meant it when I said I was starving.”

Come to think of it, Zuko is hungry too. He’d worked up an appetite, to say the least. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Katara knows it is rather petty of her to care so much about Mai’s arrival.

She does not own Zuko. She's had plenty of time over the summer to say something. He isn’t a mind reader.

She knows it is ridiculous to let the image of them getting back together over dinner keep invading her brain and make her stomach tighten into knots. She also knows that as the sun slowly starts to set, as dusk begins to fall and Katara has still not heard anything from Zuko, she has no right to feel quite as angry or as concerned as she does. He’s the Fire Lord. He’s obviously incredibly busy.

Okay, sure, she does expect to at least get a note from him considering he’s off transforming and since he said he’d find her, but—

“Master Katara!” She turns to see one of the many Fire Nation servants trotting toward her through the corridor.

Katara only just realizes that she’d been pacing the wide space up and down rather than heading to any concrete destination. She also realizes that she has no idea how long that she’s been doing this. “Yes?”

The woman thrusts a little envelope at her. “From the Fire Lord,” she says, bowing low, and Katara smiles at her, thanks her, and bows back before the servant rushes off, looking rather flustered.

Katara rips it open eagerly and scans it, her shoulders relaxing a little in relief at the note’s contents.

 _Katara_ , it says, _I’m_ _so_ _sorry, but I got held up._ _Mai brought a lot of political news so we were in meetings_ _with advisors_ _until the last second. I actually had to make an excuse so I could run off_ _in time_ _and not turn into a dragon right in the palace. See you when I’m back?_

He hadn’t signed it, and for some reason Katara found herself expecting it to say more, though she wasn’t sure exactly what.

She sighs. Now she has nothing to do except for the familiar, excruciating wait that she has to do every time Zuko transforms.

Except, of course, her agreed upon spar session with Mai in the courtyard later that night, which Katara realizes in hindsight was probably a very bad thing to agree to. But Mai’s little ghost of a smirk had goaded her. Thinking about Mai’s face made her stomach twist with a mixture of emotions; nerves, jealousy, irritation. Still, Katara makes her way down to the largest training courtyard so that she’ll be there promptly at nine. Mai is already waiting, her usual detached expression on her face as she casually twirls one of her knives around and around.

Katara swallows and decides that a neutral nod in greeting is probably safest.

“Water-bender,” says Mai. Her expression doesn’t change, though she also nods before striding over to stand at the opposite end of the court.

It feels odd to not make any small talk at all, but seeing as Mai doesn’t really seem to be much of the small talk type and that Katara wouldn’t know what to say anyway, she also finds it a bit relieving not having to talk, despite the lingering feeling of awkwardness.

They square up, facing each other now. A calculating glint flashes across Mai’s eyes and she crouches lower, getting into her stance. Katara copies her, showing that she is ready; she is just about to ask whether they should begin when Mai juts her arm out sharply and without warning, and tiny little daggers fly out of her sleeve and head right for Katara’s chest.

Katara reacts with all the swiftness of her warrior instincts, waving her hand to put a block of ice between the daggers and her body. And then she darts out from behind her frozen shield and sends an icy dagger toward her opponent. Mai easily dodges that with a practiced little side-step before hurling more knives in Katara’s direction, her eyes bright and her teeth bared.

The spar is fierce. Almost bitter. Every square inch of the space is hotly contested, with both of the women ducking and rolling and diving and, Katara notes, going for harsh strikes that are normally avoided in a first sparring session. It is generally more acceptable to feel out the other person and their skill set first so the spar can still be done safely—particularly when knives or ice daggers are involved.

Mai is relentless. Her expression gets more and more brutal as she heaves knives; at certain points Katara feels as though she is only on the defensive, dodging and ducking and moving in order to avoid getting hit, unable to retaliate with a move of her own for stretches of time. It’s during one of these defensive periods that Katara's closest call yet comes; she is only just able to deflect one of the knives from her face with a water whip. It’s close enough to frighten her, and Mai doesn’t even blink. In fact, she raises her arm to strike again.

“What the _hell_?” Katara shrieks, glaring furiously at Mai, and the other woman drops her hand. “Are you _trying_ to kill me? This is a first session!”

“No,” Mai shoots back. “You blocked them all, didn’t you?”

“And if I hadn’t? Why are you aiming for my face and my heart?”

“What do you mean? Those are the normal targets, aren’t they? Why do you _think_ I’m so relentless when throwing with you?”

“Because you’re angry at me,” Katara says stiffly, fists clenching. “You’re angry because I’m sleeping with Zuko.” Mai just laughs. It’s a mocking laugh, and this makes Katara even more angry. “ _What’_ _s so funny_?” she snaps, seething.

“No, idiot, it’s because I _know_ you can actually block me!” Mai shouts and Katara blinks, taken aback by Mai’s sudden and raw show of emotion. “You’re one of the best benders I’ve ever seen—you can make shields from ice and stuff, so it’s a real challenge for me! I _like_ that! I usually can’t go this hard with people!” Her chest is heaving angrily. There are tears sparkling in her eyes, and this alone makes Katara’s mouth open in shock.

A terrible guilt suddenly churns her stomach. “Oh,” Katara mumbles. “Oh, well—”

“Yeah,” Mai bites out. “Bet you feel like a real bitch now, don’t you?” She huffs and stalks off to sit at the edge of the training yard.

After a long, curious minute in which Katara’s extremities feel like lead, she finally finds the ability to move and stiffly walks over. When Mai doesn’t protest at her proximity Katara tentatively sinks down beside her. “Um…I’m sorry, Mai,” she says quietly. “I guess it’s not everyday that I have a lethal ex-girlfriend throwing knives at me. And it’s really hard for me to tell what you’re, um…thinking or feeling. But I should have asked.”

There’s a long silence.

And then Mai sighs. “That’s okay. Sorry for yelling.” Her tone is back to normal. Bored and dismissive.

“So you’re…not upset?”

Mai looks at her. “Not really. I can’t pretend it’s the easiest thing in the world, but it’s not about wanting Zuko. It’s just because it’s an old wound.”

“What do you mean?”

“Zuko has wanted you since he was with me,” Mai says. “I can’t believe I have to tell you that. It’s, like, glaringly obvious.”

“Well…” says Katara cautiously. Her fingers are shaking. This is not an easy conversation. Also, Mai still has knives. “We’re not together or anything. We’re just, you know…it’s just an arrangement. For—” Katara cuts herself off. “For something I can’t talk about,” she mumbles.

Mai arches an impatient brow. “Could it be the fact that he’s become part dragon, or something?” Katara’s eyes snap to hers and she just gapes for a long moment. Mai smirks. “Might want to close your mouth,” she advises. “The mosquito-flies here are horrible in the summers.”

“How did you know?” Katara demands. “Did he tell you?”

“No,” says Mai, smirking again. “I put a few things together. It was obvious, really.” She heaves a bored sigh. “He has a pet dragon that’s like—not a normal pet, is it? It’s in tune with him, or something. It hates the people he hates, it likes me, and it _adores_ you. Zuko is monstrously huge. Oh, and I also watched him eat a plate—like, a _stacked_ _plate_ , more than I’ve ever seen—of red meat at dinner. And it was almost _raw_.” She shudders slightly.

Katara laughs, and Mai shoots her a look that’s half uneasy, half mollified. “You’re more perceptive than everyone else here,” says Katara.

“It’s one of my many gifts.” Mai suddenly scoffs. “Just an _arrangement_ —ugh, Zuko’s such an idiot sometimes.” Katara doesn’t quite know what to say to that. And then Mai looks at her. “Do _you_ want it to just be an arrangement?”

“No,” Katara admits. “I was just sort of waiting for this dragon thing to pass. It’s a curse, by the way,” Katara tells Mai, who only raises her eyebrows slightly to show her curiosity. “He got it so he could keep Druk. It will go away at the end of the summer.”

“Don’t wait,” is all Mai says.

“Are…are you…seeing anyone?” Katara asks hesitantly, after a silence.

Mai rolls her eyes at her. “We’re not gal pals, you know. I barely know you.”

“Well I told you my stuff,” Katara says, a little irritably. “I was just—you know, trying to reciprocate.”

“Well, no thanks.” Mai tilts her head and looks up at the sky. “But maybe next time we meet we could spar again and see where that takes us.”

Katara finds herself starting to smile. She thinks she might be starting to understand Mai. “I’d like that. But won’t you be here tomorrow?”

“No,” Mai says. “I’m already heading back. That’s why I had to meet with Zuko today so urgently.”

“Is everything okay?” Katara asks. “Is it about the uprisings?”

“Yeah,” says Mai, sighing. “I sort of infiltrated their meetings and passed him and his advisors a whole lot of information. I think it will help, but, you know…I don’t know. It takes just one act of war to break things down that were building up for a long time, doesn’t it? And the Fire Nation had a hundred years of war. I think Zuko will just always have problems to deal with.”

“That’s pessimistic,” Katara comments, not unkindly.

“No. It’s realistic,” Mai points out. And then she glances at Katara again. “It took me a long time to figure out that I wasn’t paying enough attention to the world or thinking about consequences of things. I really only did once I stumbled into one of these meetings on accident when Zuko and I were on one of our many breaks, and they were hell-bent on taking Zuko down. I guess that sort of makes me a bad person, doesn’t it? I only started thinking about world stuff once one of the few people I care about was threatened.” She fidgets with her sleeves and looks at the stars again.

“You weren’t taught to think differently,” says Katara gently. “And you did figure it out, all on your own. It’s so brave of you to infiltrate like that.”

Mai looks at her again. “You know, you might be growing on me.”

Katara gives her a little smile. “So does that mean we _are_ gal pals?”

“No,” says Mai, but her mouth twitches a little.

It’s silent for a while as they just sit observing the night sky. For the first time, it’s a comfortable silence with Mai. But fifteen minutes later Katara starts scratching at her arms and realizes that the mosquito-flies are, in fact, numerous at this time of year, and she suggests they head inside.

Katara bids Mai goodnight and a good trip back to the Earth Kingdom, and the other woman actually gives her a little smile before she heads down to the quarters where she’s staying. Katara feels a sense of inexplicable relief that the night had gone this way.

Now all she needs to do is wait for Zuko to return.

Sleeping the night of his transformations is harder than usual, and she does toss and turn for quite a while before she is finally able to drift off.

* * *

The wind is gliding over Zuko’s scales again.

The sensation has become incredibly calming. All these weeks of transformations and Zuko thinks that he may actually miss the little things like this when it’s all over. The feeling of the wind, the heightened sense of smell, the increased awareness of his surroundings. Even though he thinks he may know the Fire Nation inside out by now—it is quite easy to cover large distances when one can turn into a dragon, after all—he and Druk have their favorite and weekly visited spots. He’s on his way back to one of them now, located in a jungle due north of Caldera City. Druk has gotten large enough that he and Zuko no longer need to fly together the entire night, but they meet in the same spot to head back together if they are apart.

Zuko always has his transformation timed perfectly. Just as the sun begins to crest over the horizon, just as the sun’s rays begin to hit him, it rips his way through his limbs and he’s human again before he knows it (though not until after a considerable amount of pain).

He knows how long it takes to get to his transformation spot from almost every inch of the Fire Nation. Right down to the second.

Zuko has tried not to think of Katara too much tonight so he’s done much more unnecessary flying than usual, trying to expend energy. It wouldn’t do any good to ruminate on her, or the conversation they’d last had, how she somehow had the impression that the words that came spilling out of his mouth were things he would just say to _anyone_ —

No, it doesn’t do any good. He’s a dragon right now and he can’t talk anyway, even if he were to fly back to her. But as soon as he _is_ back…

Perhaps he should plan what to say. He isn’t always that good with saying the right things. Maybe that part wouldn’t hurt to think about.

But he’s promptly distracted by his arrival in he and Druk’s favorite little clearing. More specifically, he’s distracted by the fact that Druk is not present, even though Zuko is actually a few minutes later than usual.

Zuko blows a light stream of concerned fire and peers around the steadily lightening clearing. They need to start flying back soon.

A heavy, frightened dread begins to fill him, though he tries to stay calm. Where is Druk?

Zuko can only sit still and wait for a few more excruciating minutes before he takes off, hovering carefully above the jungle. His sharp dragon eyes scan, frantic, trying to see any sign of movement within the trees, because he fears Druk may be injured and cannot fly.

He has fifteen minutes before he’s going to transform.

Desperately, he increases the speed of his wings to cover the jungle as best he can. Nothing. No sign of movement, either on the ground or coming toward him in the sky. Zuko thinks about roaring, but he’s afraid that might attract unwanted attention, especially if Druk is injured somewhere.

The panic rises.

Seven minutes. Seven minutes, and still no Druk.

Zuko swoops higher as he comes upon a less wild area so he can see further. Even though the terrain is still part jungle, there are a few little villages and a dirt road winding its way through the foliage. Zuko knows that eventually this road will turn into well-kept stone and lead straight to Caldera City. Zuko looks forward as far as he can to skim the road. There are no movements. It’s too late—or rather, too early—for anyone to be on the way with any trading carts quite yet. The trading street is quiet and lifeless.

Five minutes to go. An urgency builds in Zuko’s mind. Something is very wrong.

That’s when Zuko spots something moving along the road. It’s quite a way off, but Zuko can see it. It looks like a wagon, and Zuko can even make out little ant-like specks walking around the sides that he assumes must be people.

The size of the wagon seems unnaturally large. The dread rises and begins to consume him.

Zuko speeds up.

One of his worst fears is confirmed as he flies closer and lower. The wagon is a heavily chained crate, and it is rattling. The men walking along the outside are jeering and shouting, using whips to try and subdue and quiet down the very familiar shrieks and roars of Druk.

These aren’t regular dragon hunters, the ones following the previous Fire Nation tradition of killing dragons for glory. If they were they would have tried to kill Druk, not capture him.

Not caring anymore about keeping a low profile, Zuko lets out a booming roar. Druk needs to know he's coming. His dragon's answering call is frightened. Zuko can smell his fear even from here and white-hot rage momentarily almost blinds him. The jeering and shouting stops, and Zuko’s supernatural hearing picks up gasps and shouts of surprise, and fear.

Zuko is almost there. Well, technically it’s still miles down the road, but for a dragon that’s just a few more seconds. He’s going to land and use his tail to flip these men far away, and then raw force to break Druk out.

Three minutes. That’s plenty of time. Plenty of time before the sun’s rays hit him, plenty of time to—

But then, abruptly, Zuko feels the undeniable sensation of his transformation burning through his limbs. Through his lungs.

_What? No! No, no, this isn’t right, I know this to the second, I still have three minutes! Why is it early—_

Zuko’s mind goes blank as the pain rips through him. The scales melt away, his body twitches and shudders and warps; he has human fingers again, and toes, and his skin is his once more. Zuko lets out a yell when his now very human body begins to drop through the sky like a rock.

He’d been flying higher to cover enough ground. He falls and falls and falls until he crashes into a tree. It feels like it crushes his windpipe and breaks several bones, perhaps even crushes something internally. He’s struggling to breathe and stay conscious as he still falls, rolling down through the tree and colliding with branch after branch until he lands, hard.

Upon impact his head smacks the ground, and Zuko’s world promptly goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ I'm also on tumblr :) ](https://ladyaniko.tumblr.com/)


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